


The Part That's Holding On (ON HIATUS)

by Kataclysm22



Series: StevexOC: What's Inside My Head [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Drama, F/M, Original Character AU, Reconciliation, Sequel, the moment we come alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11282376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kataclysm22/pseuds/Kataclysm22
Summary: Sequel to "The Moment We Come Alive". Two years have passed since Steve left New York, and not a day goes by that he doesn't regret how he left things with Kat. But when a sudden turn of his luck makes reconciliation with her more than just a pipe dream, Steve will do whatever it takes to seize the opportunity. But Hydra has other plans, and Steve will find himself battling not only his past, but the future he can only dream of.





	1. A Thousand Times

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, everyone! I'm back with the next installment of Kat and Steve's story. Part 2 will chronicle the events of 'The Winter Soldier' and a little bit beyond. It picks up right where the movie does, so let's get to it. Enjoy!

Dawn was approaching in the east, and a warm breeze blew across the Potomac, carrying with it the scent of salt. Steve felt his blood thrumming in his veins, feet pounding on the concrete beneath him. His breathing was steady; unlabored thanks to the serum that allowed him to run for miles on end without pausing to rest. What it didn't allow, however, was his mind to stop racing. Running seemed to be the only way to quiet the thoughts in his head. So he came here, every morning, to try and work out his anxieties.

When the sun had risen high enough over the horizon to be blinding, he'd get on with his day; "head into the office" as he liked to refer to it. Working for SHIELD provided him a welcome distraction though, and it was certainly never boring. The missions came sporadically, but they were constant, and that was enough for him.

Apocalyptic events, however, were few and far between. The attack on New York had been two years ago. Cleanup was still slow-going, but nothing that cataclysmic had happened since. Well, except for that ordeal in London, but Thor had taken care of that without much effort. Things were quiet; everything was peaceful.

Which is how he knew the shit was gonna hit the fan any day now.

Perhaps it was some innate instinct that had arisen with the serum. Or maybe he'd always been a little wary when things began to seem a little too good to be true. But he didn't trust peace, even if he fought tooth and nail for it. And peace without was something he could easily control; peace within, however, was another story entirely.

He still lay awake some nights, thinking about her. Not just her, but her family too. He'd felt at ease around them, something he had desperately missed since coming out of the ice. To have that torn away from him… Well, he supposed he'd thrown it away. It was really his guilt that kept him awake at night. Those words Natasha had said to him after they'd come to D.C. still echoed in his head.

Steve had gone over the scenario in his head a thousand times. He'd been a fool for asking Kat to abandon her life to follow him on some grand adventure. Edith had counseled him to give her time, but… It'd been _two years_ since he'd seen or heard from her. Every few weeks or so, he'd send her a text message, or try to call. But about six months ago, her number had changed and he'd given up trying. It was clear she didn't want to have anything to do with him, so he'd decided to stop bothering her.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, feeling himself slipping into melancholy like he usually did. Up ahead, another figure was jogging steadily around the reflection pool. Steve allowed himself a small smirk as he sped up his pace, arms pumping. It was a little game he liked to play; harmless fun. The other guy always put up a good fight, but Steve always held on to this small slice of pride he allowed himself.

As he caught up to the other jogger, he swung out a bit to get around him. "On your left," he said calmly.

"Uh-huh," the dark-skinned man replied through labored breaths. "On my left. Got it." Steve sped past quickly and kept up his blistering pace. It took him about five minutes to make another lap.

As he sprinted towards the other man, aiming to overtake him once more, he started to speed up. "Don't say it!" he said angrily, breaking into his own sprint. "Don't you say it!"

Steve had to contain his laughter as he blistered past and shouted "On your left!" If they'd been running on a dirt track, the other guy would be choking on his dust by now.

"Come on!" he yelled back, slowing down and eventually coming to a stop.

As he rounded the pool and made another lap, he saw the other guy head towards the shade of a tree, falling heavily against the trunk and catching his breath. Steve made one more pass around the pool and then jogged to a stop in front of the tree, hands on his hips.

"Need a medic?" he teased.

"I need a new set of lungs," the man exclaimed. "Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes."

Steve allowed himself a chuckle. "I guess I got a late start."

"Oh really? You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap." He stopped and eyed Steve carefully. "Did you just take it?" he joked. "I assume you just took it."

Steve laughed and then asked him, "What unit are you with?" He'd noticed the Air Force insignia on his grey sweater, a shield around a frontiersman, flanked by two jets.

"Fifty-eighth, Para-rescue. But now I'm working down at the VA. Sam Wilson." He wiped a hand on his shorts and extended it towards Steve.

He took it and shook firmly. "Steve Rogers," he replied.

Sam smirked and looked off to the side. "I kind of put that together. Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing."

Steve felt his hand clench at his side involuntarily. The subject still made him slightly uncomfortable. What could he say? Would anyone even understand? "It takes some getting used to," he admitted sheepishly, though a knot was forming in his chest. Steve could feel his anxiety creeping up, and a sudden urge to get away overtook him. "It's good to meet you, Sam." He nodded his head and then turned to go, walking towards the street.

"It's your bed, right?" Sam suddenly called after him.

Steve turned over his shoulder. "What's that?" Something pounded in his head, though he couldn't be sure what.

"Your bed, it's too soft. When I was over there, I slept on the ground and used rock for pillows, like a caveman." Sam laughed and shook his head slightly. "Now I'm home, lying in my bed, and it's like…"

Sam paused but Steve knew exactly how he felt. "Lying on a marshmallow," he cut in. "I feel like I'm gonna sink right to the floor." Sam smiled back at him and nodded his head. There was something about this guy, something that he liked. They had a bit in common, it seemed. "How long?" he asked, knowing Sam would understand what he meant.

"Two tours," he replied, laying his head back against the tree trunk. "You must miss the good old days, huh?"

"Well," Steve looked to the side and shrugged slightly, "things aren't so bad. Food's a lot better; we used to boil everything. No polio is good." Memories came back to him and flashed before his eyes. "Internet, so helpful. I've been reading that a lot, trying to catch up." Kat had been the one to show him how to navigate Google and Wikipedia, though she claimed the latter wasn't very reliable.

"Marvin Gaye, 1972," Sam suddenly said. "'Trouble Man' soundtrack. Everything you've missed jammed into one album."

Steve smirked a bit and glanced down at the ground. "I'll put it on the list," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small notebook and pencil. In a hasty script, he scribbled the note right underneath ' _Rocky (Rocky II?)_ ' and then stashed the notebook in his pocket again. The buzzing of his phone in his other pocket alerted him, so he fished it out and glanced quickly at the screen.

To this day, his heart still leapt in his chest when he got a notification. At any moment, he expected—or rather, hoped—to see Kat's face show up on the icon. But it wasn't her; it was never her.

' _Mission alert. Extraction imminent. Meet at the curb. :)'_ There was no contact assigned to the number, but he knew it was Natasha all the same. She always attached a smiley face at the end of her text messages to him. Something about it being "less threatening", she'd said.

"Alright, Sam, duty calls," Steve sighed, replacing his phone in his pocket. "Thanks for the run. If that's what you wanna call running."

Sam had the good grace to laugh. Steve extended a hand towards him, and he took it gladly. "Oh, that's how it is?" he teased.

Steve shot him back a smile. "Oh, that's how it is."

"Okay," Sam drawled. "Any time you wanna stop by the VA—make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk-just let me know."

Steve chuckled at him as he walked towards the street, noticing the sleek, black sports car that had just rounded the corner and was hurtling towards him at an alarming speed. "I'll keep it in mind," he called over his shoulder.

Natasha was certainly a sight as she rolled down the window. "Hey fellas," she called in that sultry tone she always used, "either of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a fossil."

Steve gave her a lighthearted sneer. "That's hilarious," he said dryly. Ducking his head, he slid into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt, glancing back over when Sam came up to the window and leaned down to see in. His gaze was a little more than appreciative when he surveyed the car, and its driver.

"How you doin'?" he asked with a lopsided smile.

Natasha just replied with a coy, "Hey." And Steve couldn't help his laugh. Sam didn't know just how over his head he was with this one.

Steve glanced back over with a raised eyebrow. "You can't run everywhere."

"No you can't," Sam replied, shaking his head slowly and smiling. Steve gave him a nod before Natasha punched the gas and they were racing down the street that butted up against the Capitol lawn. The engine purred as she angled it around another corner and headed deeper into the city.

"Dropped by your apartment first," she remarked with a sideways glance. Natasha reached down into the door compartment and tossed a stack of papers into his lap. "Do you ever check your mail?"

Steve sifted through the envelopes and magazines disinterestedly. "Not if I can help it," he mumbled. "And since when do you have a key to my building? Or my mailbox, for that matter?"

Nat gave him a wry smile. "Who said anything about keys?"

Steve really shouldn't have been surprised, but the thought rattled him all the same. The incident with his break with Kat had shown him Natasha was meddlesome… He worried at _just how_ meddlesome she could be. With a sigh, he straightened the papers and laid them down on the floorboard, to be disposed of when they reached the Triskelion.

"So what's the mission?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Fury didn't say much," she admitted, "just that there's a situation aboard a ship. Must be a big enough deal to call the two of us in."

"Or maybe it's not, and we're not the big deals we think we are." It was meant to be a joke, but Steve couldn't tell if the look of wounded pride on Natasha's face was genuine or not.

"Well, I guess there's a reason they didn't call you Captain Encouragement," she shot back. But there was a light in her eyes that told Steve he wasn't in deep water.

Over the past eighteen months, Natasha had been a constant presence. Always there when he was down, and ready to cheer him up. They'd developed a close friendship, and a close bond from the numerous missions they'd run together. It was nice, having someone he could talk to and not fear ridicule.

"It's probably the same reason they don't call you Garden Spider," he quipped back.

Her head whipped around to look at him. "Touché, Captain," she complimented. "Seems you're getting the hang of this verbal sparring thing."

A few moments later and they were pulling into the underground parking garage at the Triskelion. There never seemed to be a day when it wasn't packed with vehicles, and today was no exception. But somehow, Natasha had finagled herself a designated parking spot.

Steve unbuckled his seatbelt and bent over to pick up all the junk mail. There was a trashcan next to the elevator, so he could be rid of it soon. As he swung his legs out of the car, an envelope he hadn't noticed before fell to the ground.

It wasn't long and rectangular, like the solicitations and credit card offers he held in his hand. This one was more of a square, and the envelope itself was made of a cream-colored papyrus. Slowly, he squatted down and picked it up, turning it over in his hand to look at the front face.

All it said was his name and address, written in a flowing, cursive script with a blue pen. No return address; no indication of who it might be from. Natasha was suddenly standing above him, peeking over his broad shoulder.

"Love letter?" she asked teasingly.

Steve gave a slight shrug. "Not sure, there's no sender listed."

Natasha's hand appeared in his peripheral vision as she pointed to the upper right-hand corner. Right next to the stamp, showing an image of an American flag waving in the wind, was a postmark.

' _BROOKLYN, NY. 28 MAY 2014.'_

"There's your clue," Natasha said quietly, standing straight up once more. Slowly, Steve stood from his crouching position, never taking his eyes off the letter in his hands. Something twinged in his chest; maybe his heart. He couldn't tell. It'd been cold for so long now, he'd almost forgotten how this felt. "Let's go inside," Natasha continued, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. Without a word, he nodded and followed behind her as they headed for the elevator.

He dumped the other mail unceremoniously into the trash can, keeping his grip on the cream-colored envelope tight. In silence, they stepped onto the elevator, and Natasha leaned over to punch the button for the floor they needed. The sound of Steve's heartbeat filled his head, drowning everything out.

When the elevator stopped, the glass walls still only showed concrete all around them. He looked to Natasha and she gave him a sympathetic glance. "Take some time," she offered as the doors slid open to reveal a long, sterile hallway.

Steve recognized it as the floor that housed the locker rooms. On this same floor, was a small space meant just for him; a sort of lounge-area where he could retreat to, go over mission docs, workout on his own personal equipment and take a shower afterwards. It was nice to have, in case he ever needed to escape.

Like he did right now.

As he walked down the hallway, away from the closing doors of the elevator, he could feel his hands beginning to shake. It seemed like the only thing he could focus on was getting to his retreat, locking the door behind him and shutting the world away.

_Two years… Two years without any contact. Why now? What's happened? Or maybe it isn't her at all… But who else could get my address here?_

When the door to his retreat finally appeared, he let out a small sigh of relief. He flipped on the lights as soon as he walked in, shutting the door behind him hard and grappling with the deadbolt for a few seconds longer than he normally would have. But his hands were shaking so badly, he couldn't help it. Quickly, he crossed the carpeted floor to the sitting area at the far side of the room, sitting down in the chair positioned next to the low table.

He drew his breath in slowly, trying to will away the ringing in his ears. Eventually, he'd calmed himself enough that he could think clearly once again. But his nerves still ran wild. It was a miracle he hadn't crushed the envelope in his grip yet. It still looked pristine, unblemished even though it had traveled nearly 300 miles to get to him from… from home.

Steve turned the envelope over, taking care not to rip the papyrus as he pried the flap open. Inside was a piece of stationery, folded in two in order to fit inside the envelope. The paper was thick; not quite like cardstock, but smooth underneath his fingers. He drew the paper out of the envelope and then set it aside, unfolding the stationery to look at the note written there.

His heart was pounding as he began to read.


	2. Burning Letters

_Steve,_

_I know you're probably really confused right now. Truth be told, I almost didn't write this letter. And sending it was even harder. When you left, I was so angry and hurt... a part of me is still angry with you, but that part has gotten smaller in the time we've been apart. I've gone back and forth with this for months now, and... I'm finally ready. So I think it's time that you and I talked._

_First, I just want to say that I'm sorry. There's so much more I need to say, but for now, I have to apologize that it's taken me this long. I needed time… but the truth is I was being selfish. That part of me that was so angry with you wanted to punish you too. I just hate that it took me this long to realize how awful that was for me to do. You don't deserve the way I've treated you, and I can't apologize enough._

_Before I start spilling my guts and need a hell of a lot more paper, I just wanted to tell you that I'll be in town this weekend. If you don't completely hate me yet, and you'd like to talk, I'll be at the Pavilion Café outside the National Archives from 1 to 2pm, on Friday._

_Really hope to see you soon._

_-Kat_

A million different scenarios had played out in Steve's head before he opened the envelope, of what might be lurking inside. This was, quite possibly, the last thing he'd expected. As Natasha handed the stationery back over, leaning against the briefing room table, her eyes looked troubled.

"That's… unexpected," she said slowly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You're tellin' me," Steve mumbled back, his eyes roaming over the paper once more. "But… do you think it's really her?"

At first, he'd been elated at the thought of communicating with her. It was what he'd been pursuing and hoping for every day for the last two years. But now… now he was suspicious. It'd come completely out of the blue, and writing had never really been Kat's preferred method of communication. Although she'd changed her number—and probably hadn't bothered to keep Steve's—he had told Edith how to get in contact with him, just on the off chance she changed her mind.

He certainly had enemies, but how many of them could possibly know about Kat? Or what had happened between them? Something wasn't adding up here.

"If it isn't," Natasha said darkly, "you've got one crafty assassin on your hands there."

" _Assassin?_ " Steve asked incredulously.

"It's the only thing that makes sense, if it's not her."

"So what do I do?" Steve looked at her entreatingly, grasping the letter in his hands tightly. It wasn't often that he was rattled… but today had been full of surprises so far.

"The better question is: do you want to see her?" Natasha said in that matter-of-fact way she always had when giving advice.

Without missing a beat, Steve said, "Yes, I do." Obviously, he'd been hurt when she cut him off completely, but he'd never really given up hope; hope that she'd one day come around. Now that day had apparently come, but it seemed a little too good to be true.

"Then, on Friday," Natasha continued, "we'll scout out the rendezvous point and verify there aren't any threats. Even if she's there, someone could be manipulating her to get to you." Quick as lightning, Nat was in mission-mode. But Steve was oddly grateful. God knows he wasn't in any right frame of mind to look at this situation objectively.

"Okay," he said quietly, looking down at the paper again, "and if it is a set-up?"

Natasha set her jaw and gave Steve a hard look. "Then you go in like nothing's wrong. But keep your guard up, and try to get her alone. If someone is after you, we need to know who it is."

The thought that Kat was possibly being manipulated by someone who wished him harm unsettled Steve. It was always a worry of his, that his adversaries would use those he loved against him. But he hadn't spoken to Kat in two years… It didn't make any sense.

He let out the breath he suddenly realized he'd been holding. "I don't like this," he said quietly, brow furrowed.

"Neither do I," Natasha agreed. "But we're short on options. You can either go in expecting an ambush… or you can just not go."

Steve gave her a hard glare. "That's _not_ an option," he said sternly. She nodded back in understanding and stepped around the table towards him.

"I understand this is a lot to take in," she began slowly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "but we need to get to the briefing room. We've got a job to do." To anyone else, the words would have sounded harsh and insensitive. But Natasha knew him; knew that he needed to dive into his work to distract himself. It's what got him through the break-up two years ago. It's what would get him through this time as well.

 

* * *

 

The brief had been vague, at best. Apparently, a ship somewhere in the Indian Ocean had been commandeered by pirates. That's all Rumlow—or rather, Fury—had seen fit to tell them before they suited up and headed to the hangar bay.

Now, almost sixteen hours later, they were nearly to their drop point. Rumlow came over to where Natasha and Steve were standing just behind the cockpit, drawing a tablet on a metal arm down from the ceiling. Steve looked at him expectantly, figuring this would be the moment they deigned to tell him what they were actually doing here.

"The target is a mobile satellite launch platform: _The Lemurian Star_ ," he started, pointing to a mock-up of the ship on the tablet screen. "It was sending up their last payload when pirates took them, ninety-three minutes ago."

"Any demands?" Steve asked.

Rumlow gave him a clipped nod. "A billion and a half."

Natasha actually seemed surprised, which was a foreign concept when it came to her. "Why so steep?" Steve questioned.

"Because it's SHIELD's."

The admission sent a wave of suspicion down Steve's spine, his fists clenching and jaw locking tight. "So it's not off course," he said firmly, "it's trespassing."

"I'm sure they have a good reason," Natasha offered.

Steve looked over at her and gave a frustrated sigh. "You know, I'm getting a little tired of being Fury's janitor."

"Relax," Natasha said with a playful jab at his ribs, "it's not that complicated."

Steve had several things he wanted to say to that, but he held his tongue. Slowly, he turned back to Rumlow and eyed him carefully. "How many pirates?"

"Twenty-five," he replied after a swift glance at his tablet screen, "top mercs, led by this guy. Georges Batroc." He swiveled the tablet so they could see the picture of the man they'd be looking to target specifically. He had a wide nose and hard eyes, giving his bearded face a grim look. Rumlow continued, "Ex-TGSE, Action Division. He's at the top of Interpol's 'red notice'. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions. This guy's got a rep for maximum casualties."

Steve swallowed the anger rising in his throat. "Hostages?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Rumlow flipped through a couple screens on the tablet. "Uh… mostly techs. One officer: Jasper Sitwell." He turned the tablet back towards them so they could see Agent Sitwell's face. As much as Steve hated it, this man would be the priority amongst his superiors. "They're in the galley," Rumlow continued.

"What's Sitwell doing on a launch ship?" he questioned innocuously, though it was anything but. Rumlow gave him a sideways glance but didn't say anything, so Steve turned to the other members of the STRIKE team assembled in the quinjet. "Alright, I'm gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you'll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to life pods and get 'em out. Let's go!" He received a few nods and some grunts of agreement.

Steve and Natasha strode quickly towards the rear of the quinjet, situating their earpieces so they could communicate with each other. "Secure channel seven."

"Seven secure," Natasha said, straightening out her sleeves. "Listen, Steve, I—"

"Not here," he bit out quietly. "If your suspicions are right, then we can't be too careful. And something about this mission is fishy..."

Rumlow was suddenly at his shoulder. "Coming up by the drop zone, Cap." He gave him a quick nod and then turned back to Natasha. The rear door began to descend slowly, opening up to the endless black of the ocean beneath them.

"We'll discuss who else we bring along when we get back, 'kay?"

"Rumlow, for sure," she said quietly, and Steve nodded in agreement. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I know, Nat. And I do. Let's just get through this in once piece; that's the goal for today."

The look she offered told him she saw right through the farce. But there wasn't time to think about that now. There were hostages on that ship down there, and it was his job to rescue them. Captain America didn't have time to be distracted.

Steve didn't bother donning a parachute before diving out the back of the plane and into the dark depths below.

 

* * *

 

Sam had been right that his bed was too soft. But right now, Steve didn't give a damn. The extraction on the _Lemurian Star_ had been more taxing than he'd thought it'd be. That was due in part to the unforeseen detour Natasha had decided to take, but also because his head hadn't really been engaged in the mission.

They'd managed to extract all the hostages in one piece, but almost hadn't made it out alive themselves. He was already rehearsing what he'd say to Fury once he went in for debriefing tomorrow. They'd gotten in so late that they'd all just gone home to rest before beginning the long task of interviewing the hostages and writing up a full report of what would forever be known as ' _The Lemurian Star Incident: Top Secret'._

But before any of that could happen… he was meeting Kat tomorrow. Steve glanced at the clock on his night stand. Rather, it'd be in a little under twelve hours.

He knew he needed to get some sleep, but it just wouldn't come to him. Between the botched mission and the prospect of what they'd be up against tomorrow, Steve's mind was a veritable powder keg.

On the long flight home from the Indian Ocean, he and Natasha had discussed with Rumlow what their plans were for the rendezvous. Rumlow shared their concerns, and assured them that Rollins and Garcia—two of the other STRIKE agents—would be plenty to cover the meeting. Natasha was less sure, but after her little _indiscretion_ on the ship, she didn't put up any argument. Steve still wasn't entirely sure this was necessary, but Natasha's instincts were usually spot on… even if she had a penchant for lying.

He managed to get a few hours of sleep before he was up with the sun and ready for his daily run. Sam wasn't there today, which gave him a small measure of disappointment. It almost felt normal, running with him and playing his game. But he didn't have room for enjoyment today, it would seem.

After his run, Steve headed towards the Triskelion on his Harley, weaving in and out of the mid-morning traffic gridlock. When he reached the hub of SHIELD operations, he headed to his retreat and took a quick shower before changing into a compression shirt, a pair of jeans, and tennis shoes. Rumlow, Natasha, Rollins, and Garcia were all waiting in the room they'd received their brief in for the _Lemurian Star._

"Sleep well?" Natasha questioned, giving him a sidelong glance from the far corner of the room she was currently occupying.

"Not a wink," he shot back. He didn't mean to sound harsh, but he was more than a little upset with her still.

"Well, everyone needs to be on their guard today," Rumlow cut in, glancing between Rollins and Garcia in particular. "If there is a threat, we have no idea what we might be up against. Garcia, I want you taking the west flank, Rollins–upper position. Agent Romanoff–" he turned towards her with a stern gaze, "–you'll be too easily recognized by the target, so I'll take point." Natasha nodded her assent and pushed away from the wall.

"Then I'll take the cross position. Nobody's getting in or out of that café without me seeing them."

Steve bristled at the way they were speaking about Kat, like she was some kind of threat. But he supposed he couldn't be sure anymore. Of course he didn't want to think she'd be willingly working against him... It hurt his chest to think about what lay ahead of him today. What would he say? What would _she_ say? How could they pick up where they left off and pretend like nothing ever–?

"Hey, Cap... you okay?" a voice cut through his thoughts. Steve shook his head slightly as he realized Rumlow had been talking to him and he hadn't heard a single word.

"Uh... yeah, fine," he said distractedly. "Just... let me get a feel for it first, guys. I'll let you know when I'm sure."

Rumlow nodded sharply. "Rollins, Garcia, and myself will go ahead of you and scout the perimeter." Steve didn't have it in him to say "thanks", so he settled for a nod. Rumlow took that as his cue to leave, so he gestured to his STRIKE agents and the three of them departed the briefing room.

Natasha stayed standing across the table from him, eyes troubled and mouth clamped in a thin line. Steve let out a frustrated sigh. "You can stop looking at me like some kicked puppy any time now, Nat," he said irritably, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

She gave him a blithe smile. "Well," she said with a slight shrug, "I worry about you."

It took everything in Steve to hold back his ire. "Really?" he shot back venomously. "You didn't seem too _worried_ about me when you were doing Fury's dirty work."

Steve could tell his words had wounded her when she took a step back from the table, shifting her weight onto one hip. She gritted her teeth before saying, "You really wanna talk about this right now?"

He chewed on his thoughts for a moment. Finally, he said, "No... but this conversation isn't over."

Just like that, her demeanor changed. "Fair enough," she said with a flippant wave of her hand. "Now, come on. It's almost eleven; we need to get you ready." She walked around the table and made to grab his wrist.

"Ready?" he questioned suspiciously.

Natasha let out a short bark of a laugh. "I'm not letting you go see your lady looking fresh off a workout. Come on, Captain. We've got a lot of work to do."

Steve tried to maintain his stern demeanor as he stood from the table and followed her out. But he couldn't help the small smile that broke across his face. Underneath all the fear, anxiety, and worry, there was a brimming excitement buzzing just beneath the surface. The moment he'd been dreaming of for the last two years was fast approaching. He just hoped to god he was ready for it.


	3. Which One of Us Will Look Away?

Of all the conversations they'd ever had, Steve was really wishing right about now that he'd talked to Kat more about how her powers worked. He knew she could sense people's energies and track them if she had an object that belonged to them, but that was about the extent of his understanding. If she was able to pick people out she'd met before specifically... they might be in more trouble than he'd originally thought. Natasha, she would definitely recognize... but could she perceive Rumlow and the other STRIKE agents as threats? He really had no idea.

Natasha seemed to be contemplating the same thing in the driver's seat, tapping her fingers quickly against the steering wheel. Her mouth was twisted in contemplation as she stared out the window. "I don't like not knowing all the variables to a problem," she said quietly.

"Well," he offered back, "with any luck... there won't be a problem to deal with."

She swung her head towards him slowly, a wry smile plastered on her face. "Well, one of us will have _some_ problems to deal with." Steve drew in his breath and looked back out the window, brow furrowed in annoyance. "You nervous at all?" she questioned.

"Besides the fact that this might be a trap set by some undetermined enemy..." He paused and pressed two fingers to his temple. "I'm terrified," he breathed out quietly. "I've fought Nazis and aliens from flippin' outer space... but I'm terrified to go meet a girl."

"To be fair," Natasha cut in with that objective tone of voice she had, "she isn't just _some girl_. This is Kat we're talking about... You've got history, and it's pretty messed up. Anyone would be nervous in your same position, Steve." He looked over at her and gave a grateful smile... but it didn't really help the aching in his chest. They kept quiet for the remainder of the car ride into downtown, each stewing on their own idea of what was about to happen.

When Natasha pulled into a spot in an underground parking garage, the clock read _12:57_. They'd decided it would be best if he didn't show up at exactly one o'clock. That would give them time to see if Kat got nervous, or if anyone else appeared that might be a threat. Natasha threw the car in park and looked over at him, eyes searching for something he couldn't place.

"You ready?" she questioned. Steve nodded his head but didn't offer any verbal response; he didn't trust his voice not to break. Natasha nodded back and exited the vehicle, Steve following swiftly behind. They left the parking garage and found themselves less than a block from the National Mall. Early June is peak tourist season, so the pavements were teeming with passersby. Groups of schoolchildren and young families and elderly couples; all sorts of people from every walk of life were all gathered here to survey the rich history of this country.

Steve felt like he was gonna be sick.

"Whoa there, big guy," Natasha said, placing a hand on the small of his back as he swayed on his feet. "You okay?"

Steve looked around them frantically, marking the faces of everyone passing around them, like a stream to a boulder. "Yeah, I... it's just..." He felt like he couldn't breathe; the air was pressing in all around him, stifling and clouding his mind.

"Maybe we should forget this, Steve," she said quietly, gripping his arm. This wasn't mission-mode Natasha; this was the Natasha that he'd gotten to know outside of work, and the one he'd come to call his friend.

"No," he said forcefully, squeezing his eyes shut. After a few deep breaths, the pain in his head started to ebb away and everything became a little clearer. "I'm okay. Really, I'm okay..." Natasha took a tentative step away, still eyeing him carefully. "It's... it's the heat," he said, hoping she'd be convinced. The look on her face was indication enough that she wasn't, but she didn't argue anymore.

"Okay, let's get moving. Rumlow says she's there..." Steve felt the ground drop out from underneath him at those words, but somehow, he kept moving forward. They moved quickly through the crowds, making their way towards the National Archives. The collar of the deep blue, button-up shirt Natasha had made him wear was beginning to irritate his neck. He'd already rolled the sleeves up to help with the heat of the day, but now he was wishing he'd put up a fight and worn the t-shirt he'd originally decided on.

Five minutes' passing saw them standing across from the café that was their destination, and Steve thought his heart would burst out of his chest. From where they stood, in front of the Archives, he couldn't quite pick her out from the crowd seated on the patio. But just knowing she was there... he felt like he could fly.

"Just keep breathing," Natasha said quietly, her shoulder turned slightly away from him. "If anything seems off... get out of there; don't hesitate. Rumlow and the others will do the rest."

Steve clenched his jaw, but kept his gaze steadily forward. "I don't know what to say," he admitted softly, eyes narrowed against the blinding, afternoon sun.

One eyebrow raised over the other, Natasha slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose so she could peer at him. "Just say what's in your heart, Steve. If she rejects you after that..." Natasha gave a shrug, pushed up her glasses, then looked back towards the crowds around them. "Then she's an idiot. And you deserve someone who will make you happy." Steve felt his eyebrows pop up in surprise, but if Natasha noticed his incredulous look, she didn't say anything.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks, Nat," he said quietly, and then stepped into the crosswalk.

 

* * *

 

A thousand different things he could have said raced through his mind, all of them more cheesy than the last. But they all disappeared, like a wisp of smoke on a gentle breeze, the moment he saw her sitting there. She was at a small table in the furthest corner away from the patio entrance, her head bowed like she was looking down at something. He saw her writing something on a yellow legal pad and an open book laying next to that, eyes trained on the paper with intense focus.

Steve looked to another table, this one closer to the building and shaded underneath an awning... though that didn't stop Rumlow from wearing a pair of Ray-Bans to cover his eyes. The captain of the STRIKE team angled his head towards Steve, but didn't give any acknowledgement of knowing him. Steve noted his position before walking forward, weaving between the irregularly placed tables. _This is it..._

The walk across the patio felt like a mile, like every person there was aware of what was about to happen, and every eye was trained on him. Some part of him knew that was ridiculous, but that's how it felt all the same. And the closer he got, the worse it felt. The best he could do was try to block it out, focus only on Kat. He could make out her features clearly now, though her face was one he'd never forget.

Her hair was lighter, and a lot longer than the last time he'd seen her. It fell over her shoulder and into her face, where she shoved it behind her ear in irritation. The green blouse she wore brought out the color of her eyes, like a storm-tossed ocean. Her mouth was slightly parted, and her brow was furrowed in concentration. He'd seen this look on her face many times, when they'd gone to museums or libraries and she'd been studying some historical event. Whatever she was reading right now, it must have piqued her interest greatly.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the table, one hand braced on a wrought iron chair, all thoughts of hidden threats and unknown enemies completely erased as he stood before her. She probably could have sat here all day, completely absorbed in her book and never realizing he stood three feet away. His heart was racing in his chest as he cleared his throat.

"Hi, Kat," he said quietly, though it felt like he was yelling. The world had stilled all around him.

Her head shot up, eyes wide as she saw him standing before her. Quickly, she stood up out her chair, mouth gaping as she searched for what to say. "Steve," she finally forced out, bracing a hand on the table. "Y-you... you came."

Slowly, he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her into an embrace. She stiffened at his touch, but it was the only thing that felt natural... that felt right.

"It's good to see you, Kat," he breathed against her hair. He didn't hang on for long, but it was enough just to hold her again.

When he drew away, he thought he could feel her shaking. She looked up at him like it was the first time they were meeting, her eyes wide. "It's... good to see you too, Steve," she said quietly, lower lip trembling. She sat back down, closing the cover of the reference book she'd been reading, and put her legal pad back in her bag. Steve sat down across from her, leaning against the back of the chair and trying to look unaffected.

As they sat there in awkward silence for a few moments, it was impossible for him not to compare this meeting with their first coffee date. She'd been so open and understanding, even when it seemed he couldn't help but put his foot in his mouth. Looking back on it now, it was easy for him to see how everything had been a lie. What were the chances of him meeting such an amazing woman in such an obscure place? Slim to none. And now...

Now the tension between them could be cut with a knife; hanging in the air like a weighted thread.

Kat couldn't stop fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, pulling it down over her knees and smoothing it out on her lap. Her fingers couldn't seem to rest, pulling at her blouse and grappling at the edge of the table. Steve had never seen her so nervous before.

"I'm..." She stopped suddenly, searching for the words. Though her fingers couldn't remain still, her eyes never left his face. "I'm really glad you came," she breathed quietly, a smile breaking across her face. Though it seemed more forced than he'd ever seen.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the table, studying the intricate, repeating patterns of vines and flowers. "I was surprised by your letter, that's for sure. But I couldn't live with knowing you were in the city and I didn't see you."

At the mention of the letter, Kat seemed to withdraw. Her eyes lost some of their spark, and she leaned a little further away from him. "I almost didn't send it," she admitted, folding her hands in her lap, fingers interlocking. "But, um... like I said–in the letter–I wanted to talk to you. There's um... there's a lot I think we should–"

"Kat?" Steve cut her off, sounding braver than he felt. She finally looked up at him. "How have you been?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard, but Steve didn't want to jump right in to the hard stuff. They hadn't seen each other in _two years_... "I've... I've been good, yeah. Um..." Kat stopped, clamping her mouth closed. Her brow was creased in confusion. Steve stared back as her eyes searched his face, trying to decipher what was going on in his head.

Steve leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table. "Listen, Kat..." Steve began slowly, hoping he wasn't being too presumptuous. "Yes, a lot of things happened between us. But I haven't seen you in two years... _two years_ , Kat. I'd like to know how you've been doing. How's school? Did you finish your degree? How's your mom and Edith? What have I missed?"

The genuine shock on her face was confusing to him. Hadn't she _wanted_ to see him? Wasn't she curious about him too? "You've missed..." Kat looked away from him, conflict marring her face. Slowly, her eyes slid back up to him. "You've missed a lot. I guess I've missed a lot too..."

Steve shrugged and allowed himself a smirk. "Not really," he said. "I hear they talk about me on the news all the time." He was trying to keep his tone light; he just hoped he was succeeding.

"Yeah," she chuckled, "yeah they like to talk about Captain America and all the great deeds he does in service to his country..." The thought faded into awkward silence, but her gaze continued to inspect him. She offered him a small smile, saying, "You look good, Steve."

Good was the absolute furthest thing from what he felt. But it was nice to know his façade was holding up. "Thanks," he replied, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. "It's been... I'll be honest, it's been rough, at times." That was a lie; a small one, but still an untruth. "But... work keeps me busy, so that's good." God, this was so awkward. Steve could feel his skin beginning to crawl.

"Yeah, that is good. I finished my degree right after you left," she continued. "After that, I started doing some guest speaking at universities around the country. That's actually why I'm here; lecture on early American colonialism at Georgetown."

"Wow, Georgetown... that's amazing, Kat."

She nodded and gave him a small smile. "Thanks, I'm pretty proud of it. I've also been visiting campuses, I guess."

"Visiting campuses?" Steve felt his heartbeat increase.

She nodded and placed a hand atop the book she'd been reading. "Yeah, for my masters, and my doctorate; I'm going to do them at the same time. I don't really like taking online classes; I prefer to have full access to the campus library. So..." Her face fell slightly as she let the thought fade away. And Steve felt his chest tightening.

"So you're leaving New York?"

The look on her face was reminiscent of guilt. Once more, she nodded, slower this time. Steve wasn't sure why, but her admission left him feeling strangely numb. Shock; anger; hurt. These were the things he knew he _should_ have felt... But instead, he felt none of that, only a hollow feeling of understanding. Two years ago, he'd asked her to leave New York, for him. The fact she was now leaving for herself didn't affect him the way he thought it would.

"What about your life?" he continued, no condemnation in his voice. "What about your family? Edith?"

"Nana's kind of the reason I decided on looking outside of New York," she admitted. "She wants me to–" She stopped suddenly, looking up at him with some unidentifiable emotion behind her eyes. Steve tried to read it in her face, whatever it was she was attempting to say. But he came up short, like he so often did... Or maybe he didn't want to uncover the truth he'd likely stumbled on.

A few more heartbeats passed before Kat drew in her breath to steady the shaking of her hands. "After you left, Steve... I had a really hard time dealing with things."

"I didn't make it easy on you," Steve interjected.

Kat stared down at her lap, shaking her head. "You asked too much of me, Steve. I wasn't ready for that. So I pushed you away and I threw myself into something I knew. Which was... how to be _normal._ Away from SHIELD and away from all the pressure of... of just being–"

"Of being with me." Steve hadn't meant to cut her off. But he could now see what she was trying to say, even if she couldn't figure out how to say it.

She looked up at him quickly, eyes rimmed with tears. "You broke my heart, Steve. I didn't know what else to do." Steve could feel his fists clenching where they laid on his knees. He had no right to be angry, he knew that... He'd caused all of this, after all.

"So there was someone else?" Steve wasn't sure why he phrased it as a question; he already knew the truth.

Slowly, Kat nodded. "For about seven months..." Steve looked away from her, clenching his jaw. Suddenly, he caught sight of Rumlow, his attention fully focused on the pair of them. Steve gave him what he hoped was an imperceptible shake of his head. He knew it in his heart now: Kat wasn't here to hurt him. She was here to heal.

Steve looked back over at her, at the look of utter fear upon her face. "Can you give me a minute?" he asked, half-standing from his chair. She nodded faintly and looked back down at her lap.

As he walked towards the restaurant, he motioned for Rumlow to follow him. After he stepped inside, Rumlow waited about thirty seconds before following behind. They stepped around the edge of the counter, so Kat wouldn't be able to see them conversing.

"There's no threat here," he said quietly, trying to remain inconspicuous.

"How can you be sure, Cap?" he asked, eyes narrowed as he gazed out the windows overlooking the patio.

"Just trust me on this one, okay? She's here alone; she's not here to hurt me." Steve paused and willed steel onto his face. "And I'd like a bit of privacy, if ya don't mind."

Rumlow's hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion. There was something he wanted to say, Steve could see it written all over his face. But whatever it was, Rumlow kept his mouth shut. He nodded sharply. "I'll call Rollins and Garcia off. Agent Romanoff though..." He smirked and gave a shrug. "No promises there."

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks," he said quickly, and then headed back for the open patio. As he walked back into the sunshine, Kat looked up at him expectantly, hope in her eyes.

"I thought you'd left," she said quietly.

"No, I just–" Steve stoppped short, unsure of what to say. Of course it hurt him to think that she'd been with someone else... but some part of him had known. Slowly, he sat back down and took a deep, calming breath. "I didn't expect you not to find happiness elsewhere, Kat. I'm... I'm happy you moved on." He should have stopped there; dammit, he knew he shouldn't keep probing. But his curiosity got the better of him. "Who was he?" Steve asked, chancing a look up at her.

Kat drew in her breath slowly. "His name's Dean Forsyth. He's a curator at the Metropolitan. I met him during a gala for a new exhibit..." Steve could tell she felt awkward telling him about it, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her to stop. "But anyways," she continued, "it didn't work out. We... he just..." The look she gave him sent a shiver down his spine. "He wasn't you, Steve."

It was more than he could have hoped for, this admission. More than he had even allowed himself to imagine. This felt like a dream; some vivid hallucination he'd conjured up from all the repressed feelings and memories he'd kept at bay over the last two years.

Without a second thought, he reached across the table and took her hand in his own. "I'm so sorry, Kat," he said quietly. "I'm so incredibly sorry for everything."

"I know," she said, giving his hand a light squeeze. "I'm sorry too."

It felt like a weight had been removed from his chest, and he could breathe freely again. "So, where do we go from here?" he asked tentatively.

The hesitation returned to Kat's face. "I wish we could start over from scratch, but–"

"That's not possible." Too much; too much time had passed and too many wounds had gone untended.

"I shouldn't have cut you off like I did," Kat said, breath catching slightly. "But I was angry... and I was so hurt, Steve." A pang went through his chest, and he had to fight to keep his grip from tightening. "It was easier to try and forget about you than to admit... to admit that part of me had wanted to accept your offer. Easier to try and forget what I'd felt for you than to live with the pain of losing all that."

"I never meant to put you in that position," Steve said, his voice sounding desperate to his own ears.

"But I couldn't do it," she continued, heedless of his interjection. "After awhile, I'd convinced myself that I didn't love you anymore. Dean, he was part of that... But about six months into our relationship, I realized I was just using him. What I thought was me caring for him was just...me lying to myself. I cut it off a few weeks later, and that's when I wrote the letter. I just wanted you to understand why I... why I acted the way I did. I know it's too much for me to ask for your forgiveness. I–" she drew in a deep breath, "–I just want you to understand."

"Kat," Steve said quietly, grasping for the words. "If anyone needs to ask for forgiveness, it's me." He finally released her hand and leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand through his hair and releasing a sigh. "I never should have asked you to give up your life for me, Kat. I realize now how disrespectful that was. And I never want you to think that I don't respect you, Kat. I just... I didn't wanna let you go. I lost everything once; I wasn't going to do that again."

"You wouldn't have lost me, Steve," she replied with a shake of her head, sending the loose waves of her hair bouncing. "I just wish you would have told me what you were planning. You never gave me a choice in the matter, and I know we could have... could've worked something out between us."

Steve swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. The guilt he'd harbored these long years, it was all coming up to the surface now. He'd already come to these conclusions himself. But to hear her say it out loud... it only made it that much more apparent how much he'd shortchanged her.

"Can you forgive me?" he suddenly blurted out. "Forget about the past and move forward?"

She bit down on her bottom lip in hesitation, drawing a hand up to her chest. "I..." she breathed, "I can't just forget about it, Steve. It's going to take me more time to move past it. But–" Steve perked up at that, hope ballooning in his chest. "But I forgave you a long time ago, Steve. You don't have to ask for that."

When Steve loosed his breath, a laugh came out with it. He couldn't help himself; he was so overcome by everything that had happened. "When do you go back home?" he asked. "I'd like to see you again."

"I leave on Sunday," she replied.

"Where are you staying?" he questioned.

"Across the river, at the Hyatt in Arlington."

"Perfect," Steve replied, standing up out of his chair, "that's not far from my apartment." He held out his hand towards her and waited for her to pack up her things. She took it tentatively, standing on wobbly knees. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

Kat seemed to hesitate, but there was a light in her eyes; a light that allowed Steve to hold on to his hope. Finally, she said, "Yeah, I'd like that. It's been years since I've been to D.C. I'd love to see some of the museums."

Steve couldn't help the smile that broke across his face. "Great," he said, a little louder than he meant to, "it's a date then." As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. But Kat was gracious enough to laugh, saving him from embarrassment. Slowly, they made their way off the patio and into the garden that surrounded the restaurant. Kat angled herself towards the fountain, and Steve was quick to follow behind.

When she reached its polished, stone edge, she stopped and just stared into the flowing water. Steve planted himself beside her like an oak, unwavering and silent. A few minutes passed before she opened her mouth and said, "I didn't think you'd come today."

Steve angled his head towards her, but she kept her gaze pointed forward. "Why?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, conflict clouding her eyes. "I don't know, I just…" She inhaled deeply and turned to face him. "I didn't think I was worth waiting for."

The words tugged at Steve's heart, and he reached out to wrap her in embrace. He chanced planting a soft kiss on her forehead, and she didn't cringe away from him this time. "I'm sorry I made you feel that way, Kitty. That's never been true, and I'm gonna do whatever I can to prove it to you." He drew away slightly and placed his hands on either side of her face. "Okay?" he prompted.

Wiping at the tears streaming down her cheeks, she nodded her head slightly. "Okay," she replied, a soft smile coming to her face. Quickly, she drew away and began rifling through her bag, producing the legal pad and a pen after a few moments. She scribbled something on the bottom corner of the paper and then ripped it off, handing it over to him. "This is my cell number. SHIELD decided to issue me a phone, so… that's why my number changed. Sorry about that."

Steve took the scrap of paper and folded it into his shirt pocket. "I'll call you tomorrow morning," he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis. "Whatever you want to do, we'll do it." Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He shot Kat an apologetic look before fishing it out of his back pocket. Glancing down at the screen, he saw a message from Natasha.

' _Debrief in thirty min. Hurry it up, lover boy. :)_ ' There was that smiley face again… Steve heaved a sigh and put the phone back in his pocket, not even bothering with a reply.

"Sorry," he muttered with a shrug, "I have to go in to work this afternoon. Are you okay to get back to your hotel from here?"

"Yeah, I walked anyways. Thanks, though." She gave him a reassuring smile, which sent a spread of warmth throughout his chest.

Before he could second guess himself, he swooped forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, lingering longer than he had before. His heart leapt in excitement when she leaned forward, but he didn't let himself dwell too long. When he drew back, she was smiling up at him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Steve," she said softly, hugging her arms to her chest.

Steve nodded quickly. "Until tomorrow then," he replied, allowing his excitement to creep into his voice. It was so much better than a goodbye, and he didn't want to possibly ruin it by saying anything else. So Steve began to walk away instead, offering her a wave and a smile with his departure. Kat returned the gesture, her smile a little more hesitant than his own.

As Steve jogged back across the street and towards the parking garage, the sun was shining a little brighter; the air was a little clearer, and his heart was a little lighter than it had been an hour ago.


	4. Every Time is the Last Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Just a quick heads up: I've taken a bit of fic-writer's liberty and have changed some details around here. It never made sense to me why the Cap exhibit was housed at the Air and Space Museum, so I moved it over to the American History Museum. A small, inconsequential detail. :) Hope you all enjoy!

Watching Steve walk away from her wasn't as painful as it once had been. But it still sent a pang through Kat's chest when she found herself alone again, surrounded by strangers and feeling lost at sea. A pent up breath escaped her chest and the pounding in her head seemed to abate just the tiniest bit. But still, she couldn't quite calm the nervous trembling of her hands.

That had gone much better than she'd anticipated. It surprised Kat to find that Steve didn't harbor any anger towards her. God knows she'd put herself through enough abuse over the last six months to last her a lifetime… But part of her felt she still deserved a more heated reaction out of Steve. Of course he had been in the wrong too, but she wasn't too proud to admit she'd overreacted.

The soft gurgling of the fountain nearby helped to calm her nerves, but she was still reeling from what had just happened. If she was being honest, she was so excited she could hardly think straight. Kat had done her best to hide her nervousness and excitement; she just hoped she hadn't hidden it _too_ well. But Steve had asked to see her again… maybe she'd done something right after all.

The words Nana had spoken to her before she left New York rang in her head for about the thousandth time today. " _If I know Steve Rogers,_ " she'd remarked fondly, _"he forgave you long ago. Now you need to forgive yourself, Kitty. Forget your pride; move forward; allow yourself to be happy."_

And she'd done her best. Really, she had. But it was difficult, and nothing was ever free of complications. For someone who could sense the auras and—to a certain extent—the emotions of the people around her, Kat was terrible at deciphering her own feelings. She knew without a shadow of a doubt—only because it was the only thing she'd thought about for months—that she'd never let go of the way she felt about Steve from before. But things were different now; _they_ were different now.

It would take time for these wounds to heal, and they needed to get to know one another all over again. It was all so exciting and terrifying at the same time. A smile came unbidden to her face, and she found herself setting out with a bit of a bounce in her step.

Maybe _too_ much of a bounce…

The shoulder that smacked into her was broad and well-muscled. As she staggered backwards, nearly falling over, the face that came into her view was unnervingly stern; somehow devoid of emotion. He had dark hair, cut squarely like a soldier, and a hardened look about him all over. The hand that gripped her arm to keep her from falling was iron strong, and covered in rough callouses. Hazel eyes pierced through her and a broad aura of crimson red exploded across her vision at the physical contact.

_What the hell?_ was the only thought ringing through her head.

"Sorry, ma'am," the man said in a deep, gravelly voice, his hand still clutching her arm tightly. "Didn't mean to knock you over."

Kat couldn't figure out why, but she was finding it hard to breathe. Not the way she had the first time she'd actually spoken to Steve… No, this was different; this was pure, unadulterated fear. This aura… it was so menacing it overwhelmed her. And how was she _seeing_ it? As far as she knew, she didn't currently possess something that used to belong to this man… did she?

"Um," she managed to breathe out quietly, "don't worry about it." She made to pull away from him, but the man's crushing grip didn't leave her arm like she'd expected. In fact, it tightened even further.

"You need to be more careful," he continued in a low voice, "it's dangerous out here if you aren't paying attention. Anyone could be looking for an excuse to catch you unawares." The way his eyes bored into her skull… Who the hell was this guy?

"I'm plenty careful," she ground out through clenched teeth. "Maybe you should watch _yourself_ next time." With as much strength as she could muster, Kat wrenched her arm free from the strange man's grasp, stifling the tears that welled in her eyes at the pain. Her arm was throbbing, and when she gazed down at her bare skin, she could see bruises already forming.

The man continued to stare her down, and she got the feeling he hadn't bumped into her on accident. Whatever the case, she couldn't get away from him fast enough. Her heart was pounding as she practically ran from the garden and straight into a crowd of people milling on the sidewalk. Kat pushed past them, weaving between passersby that seemed to move at a glacial pace. Every few seconds, she'd throw a glance over her shoulder to see if the menacing stranger was following her.

It wasn't until she was three blocks away that she felt secure enough to slow her pace and slip around the corner of a building, leaning up against the stone structure to catch her breath. The pounding of her blood drowned out every sound, making it impossible to focus. Slowly, she drew in a deep breath, releasing it just as slowly. After a few minutes of this, her head was clear enough again to register what had just happened.

Kat had no idea who that man was, but it was clear he'd been watching her with Steve. And the likelihood was he knew exactly who Steve was, and was no friend to either of them. But why expose himself like that? What was his purpose in trying to intimidate her? Nothing about the strange encounter was making sense…

But what concerned her most of all was the fact that she'd been able to see his aura. Kat took great care to only purchase items brand new, to eliminate any possibility of something pulling her Pathfinding ability. So then why had she been completely overwhelmed by the energy signature of the stranger? She didn't want to think about the possibilities…

 

* * *

 

Kat woke up the next morning before the sun had even shown itself, the remnants of her room service from the night before sitting on the little desk. She'd been so rattled from the incident yesterday, she hadn't even bothered to clean up. After a hot shower, she felt a little better, but there was still a cold pit in her stomach, threatening to creep its way up her chest.

As she toweled off her hair and returned to sit on the bed, she glanced down at her cellphone where it sat on the nightstand. Tentatively, she reached over and pressed the home button, biting back her disappointment when she saw she didn't have any unread notifications.

"Oh come on," she sighed, turning the phone face down, "he's probably not even up yet." A part of her knew it was ridiculously stupid for her to be acting this way... but she couldn't help it.

Kat turned the TV on, flipping it to a news channel so she could have some background noise while she got ready. The news anchors mostly discussed the economy, and a little bit about the weather, but other than that... she couldn't really bring herself to care.

An hour later, Kat was pacing around her room, fully dressed, makeup done, hair dried and styled. Every few minutes, she'd check her phone again, only to be disappointed each time. Eventually, she sat herself down on the end of the bed and flipped through the channels, finally settling on a morning talkshow that was interviewing, of all people, Tony Stark himself.

There he sat in a plushy swivel chair, velvet trimmed jacket and signature shades perched on his face. The interviewer glanced down at her cue cards. "So, Tony," she began, flipping her short blonde hair behind her ear, "tell us what it's like to be an _Avenger_." The way the woman said 'Avenger' made Katherine cringe, like it was right up there with 'nudist' or 'swinger'; something taboo that could only be discussed in dark corners.

Tony laughed it off though, like he usually did. " _Former_ Avenger, Kelly," he said, placing a hand on his knee, "that part's important. I gave up the suits awhile ago."

"Right, right," the woman–Kelly, as Tony had suggested–said conspiratorially, turning towards the camera and giving an exaggerated wink. "So how have these past two years been, dealing with the aftermath of the Battle of New York and your subsequent retirement?"

"I don't think I need to tell you that, Kelly. Your network puts out a 'where are they now?' story on us every week." The interviewer let out a boisterous laugh, which the live audience joined in on.

"Your teammate—" Tony put up a finger and the interviewer stopped mid-sentence, giving him an apologetic grin. "Sorry, _former_ teammate, Steve Rogers, seems to be the only one of you unconcerned with staying out of the spotlight."

"Yeah, that's Cap for you," Tony said with a nonchalant shrug. "Have you seen that guy's merchandise? He used to tour the entire country for god's sake, showboating for the U.S. government. Guess not much has changed, am I right?." Tony laughed, inviting everyone to join him, but Kat could only feel her blood turning to ice in her veins. Her mind flashed back to the arguments he and Steve had on the helicarrier, leading up to the battle with the Chitauri. Their disagreements had never been friendly ones.

"Well, he certainly is doing a lot of good," the interviewer offered, seemingly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. "But what about you, Tony? What does life post-'Iron Man' look like?"

For maybe the first time in the entirety of Kat's knowing him, Tony actually looked to seriously consider the woman's question. It was impossible to get a read on him through the television, but Kat could almost sense the anxiety pulsing under his skin.

"Not a lot's changed," he finally said, trying to regain his air of indifference. "I still do my best to make the world a better place... Just as the man behind the curtain. Pay no attention!" He swept his hand in a wide flourish; that elicited another laugh from the audience and the interviewer, but it only made Kat grit her teeth.

Before she could get drawn any further in to the interview, her phone began to buzz in her hand. Heart racing, she glanced down at the screen and tapped the green phone icon.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly, hurrying to turn the volume on the TV down.

"Hi, Kat." Steve's voice wasn't as enthusiastic as she might have expected. But she tried not to let it affect her.

"How are you this morning?" she asked cheerfully—well, she hoped she sounded cheerful.

"Uh, fine," he replied slowly. From the amount of background noise, Kat had to guess he was outside somewhere near a street. "Listen, I know I said that we could do whatever you wanted today, but..." Kat sucked in her breath and held it in anticipation. Maybe he was having second thoughts about rekindling their... _whatever_ they had.

When the silence stretched further than was comfortable, Kat said, "Steve?"

He sighed heavily on the other end of the line. "But there's something I'd really like to show you," he finally said. Kat let out her breath in relief.

"Oh? Yeah, that's fine Steve. This is your town, after all." She willed herself to laugh, and prayed that it was convincing enough. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Can you meet me in front of the American History Museum, about noon?" he asked, his voice more than a little worried.

"Sounds great," she chirped. "I'll see ya then." Without waiting for a response, Kat ended the call and fell back on her mattress. "Well," she said quietly to herself, "that was a disaster..."

 

* * *

 

Any inhibitions she may have had about their outing today melted away as soon as she saw Steve standing there. He'd donned a light jacket—which looked absolutely stifling in this heat—and a dark ball cap, pulled down far over his brow. He had his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, and his back was turned towards her, his eyes focused on the Washington Monument looming not too far away.

She came up behind him and gave a gentle tap on his broad shoulder, causing him to twist around sharply. "Sorry," she laughed, hopping away from him slightly, "didn't mean to scare you." Her heart leapt in her chest as he looked her up and down, a slight smile on his face.

"That's okay," he said with a shrug, "I'm just, uh..."

Kat felt her brow pull together involuntarily, and a creeping feeling of dread worked its way into her heart. "Steve, what's wrong?" It was a question she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know the answer to. Time stretched out interminably as Steve wrestled with whatever was going on in his head. "What is it you wanted to show me?" she finally asked, remembering what he'd said this morning.

Her question seemed to snap him out of his daze. "Yesterday," he started slowly, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, "I found out something; something that's got me thinking a lot, about myself and about the people I work with." Kat swallowed the rising lump in her throat. She wanted to question him on whatever it was he'd discovered, but she kept quiet. "But it also made me realize that I need to reevaluate the way I've acted with you."

"What do you mean, Steve?" Kat blurted out, suddenly fearful.

"From the moment we met, both of us have been hiding things about ourselves; things that are central to our character... who we truly are." The look Steve gave her was more hopeful than anything, and Kat could feel some of her fear dissipating. Hesitating just the slightest bit, Steve took a step toward her. "I feel like we've been given a second chance, Kitty. And I wanna do it right this time. No more lies, no more secrets. If you'll let me... I'd like to show you the part of myself I've kept hidden; the person that I used to be."

Kat was still a little unsure of what was about to happen, but she knew, without a doubt, that Steve wouldn't lead her astray. So she stretched out her arm and looped it through his, turning so they were standing shoulder-to-shoulder. She looked up at him, having to crane her neck, and smiled widely. "I'd like that very much, Steven Rogers," she said matter-of-factly, finally drawing a small smile out of him.

They strolled across the green and into the wide entryway of the National Museum of American History, joining the line of people waiting to pass through security. It seemed Steve had already purchased their tickets, and they made it through the line quickly. Kat fell into step beside Steve, allowing him to lead the way. As they travelled the hallways, Steve seemed to grow tenser with every step. Eventually, they came to a huge, open atrium, with banners and signs hanging down from the ceiling.

Kat gazed toward the rafters, and it suddenly hit her what they were doing here. Because there, plastered on a huge banner, was Steve's face, partially covered by a dark blue helmet; face set in grim determination and hand raised in a perfect salute. She looked over at him, but he remained silent, drawing in a deep breath. The question passed unspoken between them, but Kat nodded all the same.

She had received a briefing packet when she'd first been given her assignment, what seemed like forever ago: to tail and observe Captain America as he adjusted to the 21st century. It certainly had been the strangest assignment she'd ever received, but she didn't think it would be all that difficult...

How wrong she had been.

The man she found herself following all over New York City was a shadow of the man she'd read about. And not just in the packet; she had a graduate degree in American History, for crying out loud. She'd been reading about the legendary Captain America ever since she was a little girl. But the textbooks only ever spoke about his deeds on the battlefield and the incredible change he'd undergone; they never gave any insight to the human being shrouded beneath all the grandeur. And she'd only gotten to know a rehearsed version of who he really was. The fact he wanted to share this with her now made her chest hurt a bit.

The entrance to the exhibit was clogged with people. It seemed like the exhibit was fairly new, and everyone within a ten mile radius was itching to have a look. Packs of children ran excitedly around the open space, darting in between the adults and the elderly. Kat noticed a man in a dark hat that read "WWII Veteran" where he stared at a television screen cycling pictures of Steve on the battlefield and in Army camps. The man's eyes were rimmed with tears, and Kat felt something tugging at her heart. Everyone here was feeling some variation of gratitude or wonder or idolatry. What they all would think if they knew their greatest hero was standing only a few feet away.

The two of them stopped near to the first station, standing a couple feet away from the group of children gathered around the electronic screens. On the wall were two pictures: one of Steve before he'd been given the serum, and one from after. Kat had certainly seen these pictures before, but to have Steve standing right next to her, where she could feel his warmth and the way his shoulders tensed at seeing himself at five-foot-four and ninety-five pounds... it was a little uncanny.

"It was never about being strong," he said quietly, eyes stubbornly focused forward. "It was never about the glory or the recognition. I just wanted to make a difference; to do something worthwhile and maybe change someone's life." He drew in a deep breath and finally looked away, walking slowly towards the next station. A narrator's voice spoke in somber tones over the speaker system, handing out various details about Steve's time in the service.

Further into the room, on a slightly raised platform, was a dusty old Harley. Steve looked at it fondly, and he couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. Kat recognized the bike too, a more vintage version of the one he'd gotten after the Chitauri attack. On a television panel behind the bike, a news reel of black and white footage played on a continuous cycle. They moved to the opposite end of the room where a huge mural depicting several men beside Steve dominated the wall, mannequins positioned in front of each portrait and bearing the uniform of each of them.

She immediately recognized her Uncle Bucky, and a pang went through her chest. He looked so serious, eyes focused on some faraway point and a determined set to his face. It was so unlike any picture her grandmother had. Steve was gazing at the mannequin wearing his old uniform, some unspoken emotion passing over his face. But when they turned around, to walk the perimeter of the other side of the room... that's when she recognized the devastation in his eyes.

A large, glass panel had been etched with a photo of Bucky's face, and a short passage about him. Most of the information there, she knew... but some of it was new. "I owe everything to Bucky," Steve suddenly said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The history books don't know the half of it, really. He was there for me when I didn't have anyone; got me out of more than a few tough spots. But he never asked for anything in return... not a damn thing."

"Steve..." Kat said softly, tightening her grip on his arm.

"And when he went off to war," Steve continued, ,seeming not to have heard her, "when he was taken by Hydra and I wasn't going to be allowed to go after him, I saw my chance to repay him for a small portion of everything he'd given me. But I got a lot more than that. I found my purpose; the reason for this—" he put a hand on his chest—"gift I'd been given. I was doing something worthwhile and making a difference in people's lives."

"You still are," she cut in, not unkindly.

He finally looked at her, the sadness evident on his face. "I let him down, Kat. The one person who'd never let me down, and I committed my ultimate failure against him."

Kat felt her eyebrow go up and her face draw together in confusion. "What do you mean, Steve?"

He gazed at her incredulously. "You mean Edith never told you? I thought for sure they would have known..." Kat shook her head quickly, and Steve drew in another deep breath. "It's my fault he died," he said quietly. "I couldn't get to him in time, I... I couldn't save him." She could see the words were difficult for him to utter, and her heart broke from the guilt she could see in his face.

Kat had to restrain herself from reaching up to put a hand on his cheek. "If I know anything about Bucky," she started slowly, "it's that he would have followed you no matter what, Steve. He knew what he was getting into, and it wasn't your fault. No one could have predicted it."

She could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he pressed his mouth into a thin line and looked away from her, back at the glass panel. Without another word, he continued walking through the exhibit. Eventually, they found themselves in a small theater, where they were showing a short film of collected interviews on repeat, people who had known Steve during his time in the war. But there was no one from before... nobody who could attest to the skinny kid with the huge heart.

When she asked him about it after the film was over, he said, "There wouldn't have been anyone. My dad died when I was young, and after my mom passed, it was only me and Bucky. With him gone... it's like Steven Rogers ceased to exist."

"That isn't true, Steve," she replied, walking close beside him as they exited the exhibit. The line waiting to get in was just as long as it had been when they'd arrived. "That serum didn't change who you are on the inside; it just gave you a body to match the strength of your character."

Steve let out a bitter sort of laugh. "I've always tried to do what I thought was right, even if it was opposite of everyone around me, but now—"

Kat suddenly tugged on his arm and pulled him to a stop in the middle of the atrium. "What's brought all this about?" she questioned him, narrowing her gaze. From the outset, something had seemed off to her. But now, inspecting him closely, she could see in his aura that something was affecting him.

"I can't tell you, Kat," he replied firmly. "But it's nothing good... and it's got me worried." A spike of fear shot through her chest. What could possibly be going on? Something to do with SHIELD, if she had to guess.

Instead of questioning him further, she said, "What can I do to help? You're starting to scare me, Steve."

"The best thing you can do," he said slowly, "is to go home and stay put. Things are coming... things that could possibly put people like you in danger. I need you to trust me on this one, Kat. I wish there was more I could tell you, but I can't right now." Blood coursed through her veins at a frantic pace when she thought about her encounter with the strange man the day before. And now that Steve was telling her she might be in danger, it only confirmed what she'd thought before.

Kat's mind was beginning to race, and she could feel herself quickly spiraling into something too similar to panic to be comfortable. "What's changed since yesterday?" she breathed, clenching her fists involuntarily. _Did that man have something to do with it?_

A muscle feathered in Steve's jaw as he clenched it. "Everything."

She took a deep breath to steel her nerves. "If what you're saying is true," she started slowly, "then I have a right to know what's going on. My safety might be at risk here, Steve, and I'm not going to sit on the sidelines this time. I've still never been able to figure out why Loki kidnapped me in the first place, and SHIELD hasn't been any help in solving that mystery either. If something earth-shattering is going on, I need to know about it."

Steve's face took on an air of exasperation as he looked at the crowds passing all around them. "Alright, but not here. Do you have plans this afternoon?" She shook her head. "How about lunch then?"

"Lead the way, Cap," she said softly.


	5. Ghost in the Wind

For about the fifth time in as many minutes, Kat watched with narrowed eyes as their waitress flitted past the table, eyes trained solely on the man sitting across from her and attempting conversation. _Didn't this woman have other tables to take care of?_ There was no doubt that Steve was good-looking– _obviously_ –but this was beginning to border on ridiculous. The waitress was young, probably in her early twenties, and attractive in her own right. But at the third time she let out a shrill, cackling laugh at something Steve had said, and gripped his broad shoulder with her _taloned_ fingers, Kat had had enough.

Her hand came down on the table a little harder than she'd intended, but seeing the blonde waitress jump was well worth it. " _Honey_ ," she said pointedly, glaring at Steve, "don't you think we should start talking about options for the venue?"

Steve blinked at her slowly a few times before mumbling, "Venue?"

"Yeah," she chirped with the fakest smile she could possibly muster. "Ya know, for the _wedding_." Involuntarily, Kat felt her left eyebrow raise slightly higher than the right. She just hoped that Steve could take the hint.

She could see the moment realization hit him clear as day. " _Oh,_ " he breathed. A few moments passed as he searched for something to say. Finally, he blurted out, "I thought we'd already agreed on Whitehall Estate?" For extra effect, he reached across the table and gripped her hand in his.

"Oh babe, you know I have my heart set on Rixey Manor. It's just so much more... _rustic._ " Kat gave her long, reddish brown hair a flip over her shoulder for good measure.

The waitress cleared her throat awkwardly, looking between the two of them, seemingly noticing Kat for the very first time since they'd been sat at her table. "I'll get that breakfast sampler out right away," she said quietly to Steve, keeping her eyes trained on her notepad. "Anything for you, sweetie?" she directed at Kat, not even glancing up.

Kat slid her gaze over to the woman as slowly as possible. If her eyes had been lasers, she was sure they would've bored right through the woman's skull. It wasn't that she was possessive of Steve; they weren't even technically in a _relationship_ , for crying out loud. But the way the woman was acting had just rubbed her the _wrong way_. Not to mention there was a slim chance she might recognize Steve if she stared for too long.

"Short stack and a coffee, _thanks_ ," Kat replied in a clipped tone, never taking her hand away from Steve's. She just hoped his hand was concealing the fact she wasn't actually wearing a ring. Over the past two years, she'd thought about buying a fake ring to wear around, just so the mouth-breathers on the subway might leave her alone... but she'd never been able to bring herself to pretend. It was too big a reminder of what might have been.

The woman nodded shortly and then headed off towards the kitchen. Once he was certain she was out of earshot, Steve said, "Thanks for that. Wasn't sure how long that was gonna go on." Kat pressed her mouth into a thin line and drew her hand away, but she didn't say anything. Things were awkward enough as it was... "So," Steve continued slowly, " _Rixey_ Manor? Where'd you pull that one out of?"

Kat couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her mouth. "It's actually a very interesting Civil War site," she explained. "You know that scene in _Gone with the Wind_? Where the Union soldier is rifling through Scarlett's mother's jewelry box?"

Steve nodded emphatically. He'd told her it was a film he'd gone to see in the theaters several times; even drug Bucky along with him once. It wasn't so much the storyline that drew his interest. But the fact that it was all in _color..._ in 1939, it had been the most amazing thing he'd ever seen up until that point.

"Well," she continued, "that scene is based off an old legend of the estate. They say the very same thing happened during the Civil War, at the Rixey house. A Union soldier was found upstairs, rummaging through the lady-of-the-house's wardrobe and pocketing her earrings. There's some conflicting reports as to whether it was the lady herself, or one of the houseworkers, but..." Kat shrugged and let her rambling fade into silence. Sometimes, she forgot that not _everyone_ was as interested in history as she was.

"But?" Steve prompted, genuine interest on his face.

The smile that spread across her face was genuine as well. " _But_ ," she repeated, " _someone_ came up behind him with a shovel and whacked him over the head. They had the good grace to drag the man out to his unit, where they were camped outside the house, and the family records say he's still buried on the land somewhere. The marks from the soldier's spurs as he was drug down the stairs are still there to this day."

Steve just stared at her for a long moment. So long, in fact, that she started to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. "You constantly amaze me, Kitty," he finally said. "I don't know where you keep all that knowledge tucked away."

Her face began to grow warm, and Kat had to look away from him. She'd always had a hard time accepting compliments. Not that she didn't appreciate them; far from it. She just didn't know how to respond. "Thanks," she finally said quietly.

Their waitress suddenly appeared, and laid down a gigantic plate of eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, sausage links, grits, baked apples, biscuits, and a side of three pancakes. Initially, the waitress thought they'd be sharing the humongous plate, but everyone tended to underestimate just how much Steve could _eat._ A few more minutes passed before her short stack arrived, and then another few minutes before the waitress remembered her coffee.

Once she was sure they'd be left alone for a good while, Kat attempted her question. "Tell me what's going on, Steve?" Trying to remain casual, she reached across their small table and swooped up the container with the plain syrup, drizzling it over her pancakes lightly.

His deep blue eyes flicked up from his plate, as though he'd forgotten why they were having lunch–well, technically _brunch_ –in the first place. Quickly, he swallowed the bite of hashbrowns he'd just taken and wiped his mouth off with a napkin. He was still wearing the ball cap he'd had on earlier, and Kat watched as he adjusted it, pulling it down further to try and obscure part of his face.

"In your work with SHIELD," he began in a low voice, "did you ever catch wind of anything called Project Insight?"

She stewed on her thoughts for a moment, but then shook her head. The name didn't even remotely ring a bell. "What is it?" she asked.

"Fury's newest pet project," Steve practically spat. "It's a global monitoring system for analyzing and eliminating potential threats. The helicarriers; they'll contain satellite imaging technology and long-range weapons capable of taking out hundreds of targets at one time."

"Potential threats? Like what?"

"Anyone and anything," he replied darkly. "Holding a gun to the entire earth and calling it protection." Kat felt her breath catch in her throat, and she had to swallow the lump that had just formed there.

"Threats..." she repeated slowly. "Terrorists?"

"Criminals, corrupt politicians, Enhanceds... even Mutants." At this last admission, he met her gaze with a concerned look.

A cold spike of fear pierced her chest, and Kat felt her hands beginning to shake. Right now, she was considered an ally to SHIELD. Or maybe just an asset... but one day, that might not be the case anymore. What would it take for someone to consider her a potential threat? And decide to end her before she could do anything remotely harmful? It wouldn't even matter if she'd never do anything like that. A computer system would make the decision to let her live or die.

Any words she might have said got trapped in her throat, suffocating her with their weight. "I... I don't... What could Fury possibly be thinking?" she managed to force out, blinking back hot tears of anger. She thought of herself, and then she thought of her friends; people she'd never told Steve about that this would affect. And others; those that were more like family...

"He's thinking he doesn't want a repeat of New York," Steve said simply. "I can understand his reasoning... that doesn't mean I agree with him."

"What are you going to do?" she breathed, pushing her plate aside. Suddenly, she didn't have an appetite at all.

Steve's face twisted in concentration. "I don't know yet," he said after a long moment's pause. "I'm not sure who I can trust, if I'm being honest."

"What about Natasha?"

His eyes hardened immediately, and his mouth curled into a snarl. "Natasha least of all," he said darkly. His tone didn't leave any room for argument, so Kat didn't question him any further. "Now do you understand why I want you to lay low?" he continued.

"If what you're saying is true, then I don't think it's going to matter how low I lay or not. This is technology beyond either of our understanding. When this project goes live, there's not a soul on earth that will be safe from SHIELD." Her voice grew harder with every word, but it was the only part of her that felt strong right now. Inside... inside she was trembling.

Steve released a breath through his nose, staring down at his plate for a moment. When he looked back up at her, Kat had to steel her nerves. This wasn't Steve Rogers staring at her; this was the battle-hardened Captain America. The man who'd fought Nazis and lost his best friend to the horrors of war; the man who'd successfully led a defensive against an invading alien army. This was a man she hadn't had cause to see very often, but one she felt confident in placing her trust in.

"I'm not going to let that happen," he practically growled. "If you ever believed anything about me, Kat, believe me on this. Those that sacrifice liberty for temporary safety deserve neither. I'm not going to let Fury do this."

It took Kat a few moments to get over her shock, but once she did... a laugh burst from her chest. "Did you just quote Benjamin Franklin at me?" she spluttered, unable to help the smile that came to her face.

As it always was with him, her smile was infectious. He offered her a playful wink. "Don't ever accuse me of not paying attention to you, doll." Slowly, he laid his hand palm-up on the tabletop.

When Kat took his hand, she couldn't help the fluttering in her stomach. "I trust you," she said quietly, hesitantly. "But please don't shut me out, okay? Let me help you." Kat could see him wrestling with his indecision, but his shoulders finally fell and the light returned to his eyes.

"Okay," he conceded finally, giving her hand a light squeeze. Even though his tone was conciliatory, Kat felt some part of her hesitating to believe him. She'd never felt that before... _she hated it._

"I leave tomorrow," she continued softly. "I need to get back to Nana, but after that..." She let the thought go unspoken. The future was so uncertain at the moment, she didn't know what to say to him. She needed to get home and sort out her priorities, and make arrangements if necessary. _No,_ she thought, _they_ were _necessary._

It was scary to her how, just a week ago, her biggest worry was that Steve wouldn't even agree to meet with her. Now, her entire perspective had shifted. A weight had settled on her shoulders, pressing down from all angles until it felt unbearable. Everything made sense now: why Fury had seemed so preoccupied every time she had cause to correspond with him; why she hadn't received a new assignment in over six months; why she was beginning to feel less like a consultant and more like a neglected dog, begging for scraps.

Slowly, she drew in her breath, trying to will away some of the tension in her shoulders. "After that," she continued quietly, "I want to help you, in whatever way I can."

"When I know more, I'll tell you. But right now, there isn't anything you can do, Kat. And I need you to keep quiet about this, especially to anyone within the SHIELD network. I don't know who we can trust right now." It wasn't what she wanted to hear, but Kat knew she would have to accept it. Besides, she trusted Steve to figure out the best course of action with a clear head and sound judgment, like he always did. If she tried to interfere with that... well, it might not end up in the positive.

She gave him a small nod and then returned her attention to her breakfast. He did the same while trying to make idle small talk, maybe in an effort to get her mind off the bombshell he'd just dropped on her. But _she_ had pestered him to tell her, and had come to regret it. Now only one, sour thought rang out in her mind.

_Be careful what you wish for._

 

* * *

 

Steve had something to do that afternoon–but for whatever reason was reluctant to tell her what that _thing_ was–so he dropped her off back at her hotel with a promise that he'd take her to lunch the next day before her flight left. After he was gone, Kat felt a strange hollowness in her chest, as though her moral compass had suddenly stopped working. A part of her wanted to keep her promise to Steve; to keep Project Insight a secret. But the other part of her... the other part of her had people she wanted–no _needed_ –to protect.

Once she couldn't hear the roar of his Harley anymore, Kat fished her phone out of her pocket. She took half a second to pull up her contacts and scrolled until she reached the name she was searching for. A smirk made its way to her face when she noticed the crown emoji next to the name; that hadn't been there a few weeks ago.

She put the phone up to her ear and began chewing on her lip as the electronic ring continued to sound. The woman behind the concierge counter smiled at her as she passed by, and it was an effort for Kat to return the gesture. With every ring that sounded, her nerves were set more on edge.

Finally, on the fifth ring, the line picked up, right as Kat was scooting into the elevator. A chorus of voices and dishes clinking together in the background assaulted her ears. "If you're calling for more advice on your _strapping_ soldier boy," a heavily accented voice slurred out, "then I hate to inform you... but the _doctor_ is _out._ "

Kat pulled her phone away from her ear while biting down the laugh bubbling up in her throat. She checked the time and then quickly did some mental calculations. "How are you drunk at seven thirty? And when did you swipe my phone to put that little _crown_ next to your name?" she asked in an amused tone. "Real subtle, _Queenie_." Her friend liked to pretend like she was a proper English lady, but Kat knew better... _much_ better.

"Wha? ... _Oi, pipe down!_ " the woman yelled away from the receiver. Kat heard some muttering on the other line, but couldn't make out what was being said. A few moments passed by before the background noise faded away and she could hear the woman clearly. "Sorry, love, the boys are happy to have me home. Whatya say?"

The elevator doors slid open on the third floor, and Kat stepped out into the hallway, veering to the right towards her room. "Sounds like it," she chuckled, reaching around to her bag to pull out her room key. "You guys at the George?"

"Obviously," she snorted, giggling as she tripped over something. "Now, Kitty, to _what_ do I owe this pleasure?"

Kat heaved a sigh, stopping in front of the door to her room. "I need to talk to you, Jemma. When are you coming back home?"

"Mm, technically I _am_ home... And, sorry, aren't we talking _right now_?"

"You know what I mean, Jem," Kat snapped, a little harsher than she'd intended. "When will you be back in New York?"

"I'm visitin' Pip for her birthday," Jemma said in one long string of words. "Be back...ehhh, next week. Monday, I think. _Sorry...Tuesday_ afternoon."

"Good," Kat replied, placing her bag on the small table by the door and flipping on the lights. "Pencil me in for dinner on Tuesday then."

"Dammit, Kat, you know how jetlag gets to me. Sorry, can we do Thursday? Or maybe–"

"Something big has happened, Jem," Kat cut her off, trying to will steel into her voice.

The other end of the line fell silent, and Kat could feel the weight of her words settling over three-thousand miles away. "What's happened?" she asked quietly, all trace of frivolity gone.

"I can't say, not on the phone." She had no way of knowing if SHIELD had bugged the phone they'd given her. But she wouldn't put it past Fury to do just that. Kat could only hope Jemma would pick up on the words she couldn't say. "Just... get home quick as you can, okay?"

"Umm," she hedged, "yeah, okay. I'll ring you when I land?"

"Yeah, that'll be fine." Kat walked through the sitting area to the bedroom and kicked off her shoes, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Give Pippa my love."

"Kitty..." Jemma said slowly, her tone still sober, " _does_ this have to do with your soldier?"

Involuntarily, Kat bit down on her lip. "Yeah," she sighed, "yeah it does. I really can't say anymore, Jem. I'll see you in a few days."

"Yeah, alright," she sniffed. "Love you, Kitty. See you soon."

"Love you too, Jem." Kat disconnected the call and threw her phone down on the bed beside her, falling onto her back and closing her eyes. She released the pent up breath from her chest, willing some of her stress to go with it. This day hadn't turned out how she'd expected at all, and had left her with more questions than answers.

But if Steve wouldn't offer her anything further in the way of explanation, or even allow her to help... she'd have to resort to more drastic measures. And Jemma Abbott was nothing less than drastic.


	6. If You're A Saint, I'm Infallible

Part of Steve felt ridiculously stupid standing there, lurking in the hallway like some creep. But he told himself that Sam had invited him down there in the first place; it wouldn't catch him off-guard or come across as unusual… would it? He drew in a deep breath and willed himself to stay put. With everything that had happened over the last two days, he felt the need to talk to someone who could be objective. And Sam seemed understanding enough; he might just be the friend Steve had been looking for.

When the group of veterans broke apart from their therapy session, Steve straightened himself against the wall, arms still crossed over his chest. Sam exchanged a few words with a woman and then headed down the hall towards Steve where he braced his shoulder against the wall.

"Look who it is," he said with a wide smile. "The runnin' man."

Steve extended his hand and Sam took it gladly, then busied himself straightening brochures on a low table. "Caught the last few minutes," Steve remarked, thinking back on the stories the veterans had shared about their experiences with what he knew as shell-shock in his day, but was now called Post-Traumatic Stress. "It's pretty intense."

Sam gave a slight shrug and said, "Yeah, brother, we all got the same problems. Guilt; regret…" Steve felt his hand clench involuntarily at those words. Those were two things he was painfully familiar with…

His chest ached with memories of Bucky as he asked, "You lose someone?"

Sam's face fell the slightest bit. "My wingman," he uttered, "Riley. Fly in the night mission. A standard PJ rescue op, nothing we hadn't done a thousand times before; till an RPG knocked Riley's dumb ass outta the sky. Nothing I could do. It's like I was up there just to watch."

The similarities between Sam's experience and his own shook Steve to his core. He could see it vividly in his mind's eye, the moment that piece of metal had given way and Bucky's hand had disappeared from his line of sight. Steve remembered watching helplessly as he fell into the ravine, screaming and reaching out for Steve the whole time; begging him to help, to _do something_.

"I'm sorry," Steve finally replied, his voice rough. What he really meant was ' _I understand_ '.

"After that," Sam continued, "I had a really hard time finding a reason for bein' over there, ya know?"

That was where they differed. Bucky's death had devastated Steve at first, of course. And it was just his luck that he couldn't even get drunk anymore… But afterwards… Afterwards, it had lit a fire in him; a fire that couldn't be quenched until every last Hydra operative he could get his hands on was dead. But seeing Sam here, dedicating his time to help people that had gone through the same thing, and were still suffering the after-effects… he guessed everyone dealt with their grief in their own way.

Steve inspected Sam's face for a moment. "But you're happy now, back in the world? **"** he asked, willing his own, guilt-ridden thoughts to be quiet.

"Hey, the number of people giving me orders is down to about zero. So, hell, yeah," he laughed, face splitting into a wide grin. Then that knowing look came back into his eye. "You thinkin' about gettin' out?"

Steve felt himself stiffen. It wasn't that he'd _thought_ about it in-depth, but the thought had definitely crossed his mind. "No," he replied automatically, then paused. "I don't know… To be honest, I don't know what I'd do with myself if I did." The truth of his own words took Steve a bit by surprise. He'd labored so hard these last two years to fall back into the role of Captain America, the one he'd built for himself. But now… everything had changed.

"Ultimate fighting?" Sam joked with a laugh. "Just a great idea off the top of my head." Steve couldn't help himself when he chuckled. It was definitely an… _interesting_ idea. "Seriously though," he continued, "you could do whatever you want. What makes you happy?"

It took him a few moments to come up with the most unsatisfying answer in the world. "I don't know," he said, looking down at the floor. "Not so much a question of _what,_ but _who_ …" Not technically true. Kat made him happy. Or rather… she used to; he was sure she could again. But that… he couldn't think about that right now, not with everything happening at SHIELD.

"I know that look," Sam interjected, crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk. Steve cast him a questioning gaze, but he guessed he'd never really been good at masking his emotions. "Come on, man, you can't expect me to believe that _you—_ being _you_ —don't have at least a little drama with some chick." That drew a laugh out of Steve, but Sam didn't know just how right he was.

"Yeah, well…" He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away sheepishly.

"I don't know how it was back in the Stone Age, but didn't anyone tell you that red-heads are nothing but trouble in this century?"

Steve snapped his gaze back up quickly, fighting against the laugh bubbling up in chest… He lost. "No!" he exclaimed. "That's not… No, Natasha is…" He shook his head quickly to regain his composure. "Natasha is a _work colleague_ ," he said pointedly. Sam's face told Steve he didn't believe him. "Although," he continued, "there's drama with her too, but not _like that._ "

"Yeah, whatever you say, man," Sam drawled sarcastically.

"It's… it's just…" Steve stopped, struggling for the words. He didn't know Sam that well, but there was something about him that told Steve he could trust him. He led therapy groups for veterans on a regular basis… maybe he'd be good at this. "It's a long story," he finally said, hoping that would answer his unasked question.

Sam glanced down at the wristwatch on his left arm. "I don't have another group session til five o'clock," he said, looking back up at Steve. "I got time. Why don't you come to my office? I got donuts. You like donuts? Did they have donuts in the Jurassic Period?"

Steve shook his head and smiled, but pushed up off the wall and followed Sam down the long hallway in front of them. "I'm ninety-six, not _dead_ ," he quipped back.

Sam led him into a small office, holding only a desk and a filing cabinet, but still somehow cozy. The building was horribly outdated, but Sam had managed to put his own personal touch on the space. Pictures of him in uniform and standing next to battle-buddies, or with various family members, dotted the back wall. And on the wall to his left, Steve saw a shadow-box containing several ribbon-bars and a medal. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was the Silver Star.

"Impressive," he remarked, taking a seat in one of the plain chairs across from Sam's desk. Sam took a seat as well and glanced up at the shadow-box.

A dark look suddenly passed over his face. "Yeah, well…" Steve looked over at him, and he could just barely see Sam's own demons swimming beneath the surface of his carefully crafted exterior. "Never really felt right, accepting an award for killin' people."

It was kind of like the way they'd officially—and posthumously, eerily enough—made Steve a captain in the Army, even though he hadn't done as much to earn it as the other guys who carried the rank. The honor felt hollow, and left him feeling more unworthy than anything else.

"Nothing about war makes sense," he said somberly. "Sometimes, we just gotta live with the things we've done and just try to live our lives the best we can."

Sam nodded at him and smirked lightly. "I thought I was supposed to be the one offering advice here."

"Sorry," he chuckled, shifting in his seat.

"So tell me about her." Sam interlocked his fingers in front of his face, dark eyes knowing, and waited for Steve to feel comfortable enough to open up.

Steve drew in his breath and gripped his knees, shoulders bunching up with tension. "Where to begin?" he asked of no one in particular. His history with Kat was such a tangled mess of lies, forgiveness, anger, and hurt. He was beginning to think that they might be able to reconcile with one another, but so much had happened… It was overwhelming.

"Where'd you meet her?" Sam prompted.

"It was in Brooklyn," Steve began. "I was at a real low point and I thought that if I went back to where I'd started from… then I might be able to feel more comfortable. She really helped me; taught me about things that I'd missed and showed me that it was okay to be a little broken. But… I kept the truth about who I was hidden from her.

"It turns out it didn't matter, because she was lying the whole time too. She'd been assigned to observe me for the organization I now work for, and we both ended up working on a mission together. There came a point where I thought she might…" Steve looked up and saw Sam was staring at him with wide eyes, and he suddenly felt self-conscious.

"Man, I thought I had issues," he said quietly after Steve didn't continue. "This sounds like the plot to some B-grade soap opera." Steve wasn't entirely certain what a ' _soap opera_ ' was, but he understood Sam's meaning well enough.

"Yeah, well," he sighed, "that's not even the best part. She's also related to someone I knew… _before_. I didn't know that when I first met her, but part of me can't help but think it's a big part of why I'm drawn to her. She's like a little piece of my old life, still hangin' on."

"So tell me this: have you forgiven her for lying to you?" Sam placed his hands flat on his desk and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the edge.

It took Steve less than a second to answer. "Yes, I have. But there's other things that have happened." He could feel his brow furrowing as he thought of that day in Central Park; how the sun had been shining and the children laughing, all while the little world he'd built for himself was falling apart all over again.

"You screwed it up." It wasn't a question, and Steve found him surprised at how well Sam could read him in this moment.

"I asked her to give up her life for me," he said quietly. "It wasn't what I meant, but I couldn't see that's how it seemed at the time. I just… I just wanted to be near her. I hurt her—I know that—but then… then she just shut me out; cut me off completely. I never got the chance to apologize or try to make things right because… Because she never let me." This last part he said quietly, almost to himself, as understanding settled over him.

He'd been _so willing_ to forgive Kat simply for the sake of having her back in his life that he'd completely ignored the _hurt_ she'd caused him.

"How long was it?" Sam asked, drawing Steve away from the bombshell he'd just admitted to himself. "How long before she came back into your life?"

"Two years," he responded quietly, clasping his hands between his knees and bracing his elbows against his thighs. "Two years of radio silence where she moved on with her life, in more ways than one."

"Damn," Sam breathed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, man, that can't have been easy."

"I… I feel like she was punishing me for leaving and asking her to come with me. All I wanted was to put my skills to use somewhere, and start some semblance of a normal life with her. And I just…"

"It doesn't seem fair, does it?" Sam offered when it seemed Steve couldn't give voice to his thoughts. He shook his head in response, pressing his mouth into a thin line. "Well, it's not. But, unfortunately, people are human. And sometimes—more often than not, actually—humans are self-centered creatures." Steve thought about this for a moment, before Sam interrupted his thoughts again. "But let me ask you... has she apologized? Did she admit what she did was wrong?"

Steve nodded slightly. "Yeah, she has. She wants to… reconcile. Try again, I guess."

"And is that what you want too?"

"I…" Steve paused momentarily, looking up at Sam to try and discern his thoughts. But 'Sam the Therapist' had taken over, and it was impossible for him to tell what he was thinking. "I'm not sure," he finally forced out. "There's just so much else going on in my life right now… I'm not sure I can even think about that right now."

"You want my honest opinion?" Sam asked with a slight smirk. It probably wouldn't have mattered, but Steve nodded all the same. "It sounds to me like you want to give this girl another chance, but you're afraid of getting hurt again. Whatever else is going on in your life—and believe me, I can't even _pretend_ to know what happens to Captain America on a daily basis, but that has more to do with sorting out your priorities than whether or not you're gonna let this girl back into your life, be it romantically or not."

"But how can I even think about that when there are people's lives at risk?" He was probably saying way too much right now, but he didn't really care.

"You're not a robot, Steve," Sam said calmly. "You may be a superhuman, but you're still a _human_. The best thing you can do is put this to rest, one way or another. But if you're gonna let her back in, you can't be afraid of gettin' hurt. It's just a part of life; it's unavoidable."

That caused Steve to smile a little. "Don't I know it?" he chuckled.

"Now you just gotta decide if she's worth the hurt," Sam said with a sense of finality. "She's obviously got problems she needs to work through too, and you have to figure out if you're going to help her through it, or if the baggage is too much for you."

"I don't _want_ to give up on her…"

"Then don't," Sam interjected. "You've held on this long. Sounds to me like you already think she's worth it."

Steve allowed himself a half-smile. "Thanks for your advice, Sam," he said. "I really appreciate it."

"Hey, anytime man." He stood from his chair, prompting Steve to do the same, and reached out his hand. Steve took it and gave a firm shake.

"Be careful about offering that," Steve joked. "Before you know it, I'll be in here every week."

"And then I can say we're best friends, and the girl at the front desk will think I'm _really_ awesome. Win-win for both of us," he replied with a laugh. They parted ways, and Steve left the VA facility feeling like he'd gained a new friend.

 

* * *

 

Kat really shouldn't have been surprised as she sat there in the restaurant... alone... twenty minutes into a 7:30 dinner reservation... her glass of California Riesling half-empty already. When she'd spoken to Jemma earlier in the day, she'd thought she made herself clear on when and where they'd be meeting for dinner. Maybe she had been, but Jemma was notorious about being late. It wasn't that she didn't care–quite the opposite, actually–just that she was horrible with directions. The woman had lived in New York City for close to twenty years, and still got lost on her way to Central Park.

Finally, at five-to-eight, Kat caught sight of her best friend bustling into the restaurant, bag slung haphazardly over her shoulder and dark brown hair a wild mess. Kat couldn't really blame her though; her body was still on Greenwich Mean Time, and it was currently almost one o'clock in the morning there.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she babbled, hanging her bag over her seat and coming around the table to wrap Kat in a tight hug. She returned the taller woman's embrace earnestly and then sat back down, waiting for Jemma to collect herself. She sat down hurriedly, smoothing down her hair and pulling at her blouse. When she was finally settled, she placed her hands flat on the table and gazed at the woman across from her. "How have you been, Kitty? I haven't seen you in months."

"And we've talked every day in that time," Kat laughed. "I've been... the same."

"Please don't insult me with your lies," she teased with a knowing look, flipping open the wine list and browsing casually.

Kat shrugged in response. It had been worth a shot. "Well, then don't insult me by pretending you're going to get anything _other_ than the Carbonara Special. I think you'll find the Sauvignon Blanc an excellent pairing choice for that."

Jemma snapped the wine list shut and looked up at Kat with a mockingly sulking gaze. "See? This is why I need you: I see all wine as wine. Can't be bothered to figure out what goes with what... The boys asked about you, by the way." At this last statement, her tone suddenly became darker, her gaze, narrower.

"And what did you tell them?" Kat asked with feigned disinterest, taking a sip of her wine.

"That you've forgotten all about them and have no plans to be anywhere near the European continent in the future," Jemma replied without missing a beat. Her green eyes had a sharp glint to them that betrayed she wasn't joking completely.

Kat sighed heavily, casting her eyes down at her empty plate. "You know I'd visit them if I could, Jem," she said quietly, fidgeting nervously with her fork. "But I have a lot going on right now–"

"Right," the Brit cut her off sharply, "like moping about a problem that is well within your power to fix."

Her vitriol caught Kat by surprise. "Are we really going to do this now?" she snarled quietly, leaning slightly further over the table. She could feel her pulse beating faster, but Jemma didn't seem like she was going to back down. They may have been best friends, but that didn't mean they didn't disagree from time to time.

Finally, after an interminable silence, Jemma leaned back in her chair, huffing dramatically and looking back down at her menu. "Sorry," she grumbled, "but you know how I feel about that."

" _Yes,_ " Kat replied pointedly, feeling some of the tension ease from her shoulders, "I'm well aware." Jemma had strong opinions on... well, just about _everything_ , and she wasn't afraid to make her feelings known. But she hadn't asked Jemma to meet her straight off an eight hour flight from London-Heathrow to talk about Steven Rogers.

Their waiter came back and took their order quickly, seemingly overwhelmed with the amount of tables she'd been given. Once she was gone, Kat stared at her friend pointedly, waiting for her to stop fiddling with her phone and get settled in her seat. She always seemed to be fidgeting with something; cutlery, glasses, napkins, her fingernails, the hem of her blouse... the list was endless.

Finally, she placed her phone facedown on the table and looked up at Kat, folding her hands beneath her chin. "Alright, spill the beans then. What's this life-altering, earth-shattering, _thing_ that's happened?"

With a deep breath, Kat steeled herself. She kept her voice low as she explained to Jemma about Project Insight. At first, Jemma's face maintained it's usual, slightly amused, expression. But as she kept talking, Jemma's face fell into concern, eventually settling on utter disbelief.

"You can't be serious," she stated quietly once Kat was finished. "How is that even legal?"

Kat gave a slight shrug. "This is America," she said in a weak attempt at being funny. Jemma snorted and raised her eyebrows at that. "But I needed you to know," Kat continued. "This puts everyone like us at risk. I need you to start getting the word out–"

"The word out about what?" Jemma cut in. "That there's a target on our backs? I hate to break it to you, Kitty, but this isn't exactly news."

"Never like this though," Kat shot back. "Yes, we have been hunted before. But this is different, Jemma. At least some of us will have a chance if they go into hiding."

"If what you say is true," she replied slowly, "then it won't matter. This program is capable of locating someone anywhere in the world, right?" Kat nodded sharply. "Then what good will hiding do? If anything, we should be fighting this." Her voice was starting to rise, and Kat looked around nervously to see if anyone was paying attention to them. It didn't seem like it, so she turned back to her friend.

They'd known each other for a long time; almost Kat's entire life. When Charles Xavier had introduced a very young Kat to the enigmatic, no-nonsense Jemma Abbott... well, she'd been a little concerned, to say the least. That had been nearly twenty years ago, and their relationship had morphed from mentorship to a deep, true level of friendship. And all that time... Jemma had never aged a day.

She could remember it like it was yesterday: her six-year-old self staring up in awe and wonder at this wild woman, dressed in black leather and seemingly always with a scowl on her face. That same woman sat before her–minus a few pieces of leather–but her heart had certainly softened over the years. And she'd helped Kat become the woman she was today, though they still disagreed about certain ways to do things. Jemma preferred to jump right in and tackle a problem head-on, whereas Kat preferred a more cautious approach. This situation didn't seem to be an exception.

But none of that seemed to matter anymore. By the determined set to her jaw, she could tell this was not a fight Jemma was willing to back down from. With a heavy sigh, she said, "I know, Jem. But I don't have a lot of information right now. That's why I wanted to ask for your help. We need to figure out what this thing is fully capable of first, before we entertain any ideas of destroying the program."

Jemma's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she leaned back in her chair. She seemed to stew on her thoughts for a long while before responding.

"When we spoke the other day," she began quietly, "you said this had to do with your soldier boy. Is he planning on fighting this head on too?" Kat nodded slowly. She thought for a few minutes more and then gave a sharp nod. "I'll do what I can, Kitty. Just tell me when."

"I have to talk to Nana about it, but I'm thinking within the week."

"Bloody hell, woman," Jemma scoffed with mock frustration, "at least let me get used to this time zone before you have me running off on some bloody wild goose chase."

Kat gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Jem, really..."

The tone of her voice caused Jemma to drop her joking exterior. She tilted her head and gazed at Kat intently, trying to read her. It had taken her a while, and she still couldn't do it completely, but Kat had learned how to partially shield herself from Jemma's ability.

"What's changed?" she asked simply, her expression straight-forward.

"A lot," Kat admitted. "I–"

They were cut off by their food being brought to the table. Kat thanked their waiters and then waited till they were gone to continue. Jemma had already dug into her plate by the time she was ready.

"I don't care how many times I've eaten this," she said in between swallows. "This dish never gets old."

Kat laughed at her friend's antics. "I can see that. Anyways," she continued, "I saw Steve this past weekend."

Jemma suddenly stopped mid-bite, gazing at Kat in surprise. "Sorry... you what?"

"I wrote him a little over a week ago," she explained. "They asked me to come speak at Georgetown, so I thought I'd ask if he wanted to see me while I was in town. Honestly, I didn't expect him to show, but... he surprised me." She gave a small smile and a shrug, thinking back to the moment she'd seen him standing there. It was like some part of her that had been missing all this time had suddenly snapped back into place; the picture had been incomplete before, but now she could see it clearly.

"And me too, looks like," Jemma replied. "You know my thoughts on that _particular_ matter."

"I apologized for shutting him out," Kat explained calmly. "I did my best to explain myself, and I... honestly, I'm not sure how he took it. We met again the next day, but by then, he'd already found out about Project Insight... He was a bit preoccupied."

Jemma made a noise of noncommittal and chewed on her bottom lip. "So what's your plan then?" she asked. "Just waltz back into his life and expect him to act like nothing happened?"

"Not exactly," she hedged, pushing at the food on her plate. "I just..." She heaved a sigh. "God, I don't know. I just wanted to explain myself and see where it went from there. I don't really know what I was expecting, and I don't have a plan moving forward. It's just..." Kat could feel her heart palpitating rapidly. "I just don't want to lose him again."

"Push him away, you mean," Jemma's tone was firm, but not unkind.

Kat bit down on her lip. "Yeah, you're right," she confirmed quietly. "I did push him away. I was afraid of getting hurt, and at the first sign of trouble I ran. I'll admit it, Jemma: I was a coward. And stupid, and selfish, and childish..." Kat let her rant fade away into silence, but Jemma just kept staring at her. She felt that slight tug on her inner self that meant Jemma was working at her, and sent her friend an annoyed glance.

"Sorry," she mumbled, turning her attention back to her food. "But I didn't make you say anything you weren't already thinking."

Kat huffed lightly, but she couldn't really be mad at Jemma. She was right, after all. All of those things were true, and Kat knew it. Was she naïve enough to think that Steve could look past all of her faults and all of the mistakes she made? Or was she just lying to herself? The latter was the more likely of the two...

"You could be the world's best therapist if you weren't such a smartass," Kat remarked lightly, scooping up a forkful of her pasta. Jemma laughed slightly at her, and she could feel some of the tension dissipating.

"Yes, but then I wouldn't be any fun to be around."

"Not true," Kat shot back quickly.

Jemma looked back up at her, green eyes softening slightly from their earlier hardness. "I want you to be happy, Kitty," she said softly, "but you have to come to terms with what you did. I don't mean you need to beat yourself up; I think you've already done plenty of that. You need to admit what happened, and then forgive yourself and move on. And don't just give a shallow apology. Steve deserves more than that. Can you do that for me?"

Kat inhaled deeply. "I'll certainly try," she replied quietly.

"No," Jemma said sharply, "there's no more trying. If you're serious about this one, then do it. End of story."

This maternal toughness was nothing new coming from Jemma, but it felt different this time. She was really serious about Steve; more so than any other guy she'd been with. Even though her actions over the past two years spoke to the contrary...

Kat realized now that it would take more than her just showing up in Steve's life again and offering a paltry excuse by way of apology. She needed to show him that she was serious, that she was truly sorry for what she'd done, and that she'd do anything she could to make amends. The only problem was, she wasn't sure just _how_ she was going to do that.

"I don't know what to do," she admitted quietly, wrestling with the emotion coloring her voice.

Jemma reached across the table and took Kat's hand, squeezing it tightly. "You know I love you," she said, her face concerned, "but it's time to pull up your socks and just do it, yeah?"

Kat nodded slightly and drew her hand away. "You'd think after all this time," she said, "that I'd have heard all your little euphemisms... but that's a new one."

Jemma chuckled lightly. "I think you Americans would say... Oh, how does it go? It's quite vulgar, I think. Something about underwear..."

"Put my big girl panties on?" Kat offered with a laugh.

"That's the one!" Jemma exclaimed with a light tap on the table. "Yes, do _that_. And spare me the pain of constantly having to feel your melancholy."

Kat stuck her tongue out childishly, but laughed nonetheless. Jemma was tough on her–always had been–but there was always love there. Kat viewed her more like a sister than anything; a sister who always tells it like it is but does everything she can to help, short of doing it for you. Kat valued her advice more than almost anyone...and she was going to do her damnedest to make things right with Steve.

But first... first, she and Jemma had work to do.


	7. If You Could See My Bleeding Heart

The steady, electronic beeping of the heart monitor in the corner sounded to Kat like a death toll, mocking in the way it could control her. At the slightest variation in speed, Kat's attention was immediately drawn to the machine, and then back to her grandmother where she lay in her bed. Her beautiful, snow-white hair was fanned all around her head, eyes droopy and arms weak as they lay at her side. Every so often, she would look in Kat's direction and offer a small smile, but Nana could hardly find the strength to speak.

In the past six months, her condition had deteriorated drastically. The doctors weren't certain what exactly was wrong with her, only that it was some kind of respiratory issue. Horrible coughing wracked her frail body at all hours of the day and night, keeping Kat and her mother up til the early hours of the morning most times. But as bad as her sickness got, her spirit had never wavered. She always had a smile ready for whoever came to visit her.

Today, it was just Kat, perched in her usual chair on the right side of the bed with a blanket in her lap and a book in her hands. She hadn't wanted to tell Steve that Nana had gotten this bad, but now she was regretting that decision… amongst many others when it came to Steve.

The heart rate monitor eventually returned to an even pace, one that didn't cause Kat to worry, and she felt herself relax a little bit. With everything that had happened in the last week, she couldn't fathom having to deal with _that_ now too.

Nana stirred and angled her head in Kat's direction. The TV was situated on the dresser near her, and she couldn't quite tell where Nana was actually looking.

"How you feeling?" she asked quietly, closing her book and setting it on the small end table next to her. A rattling cough that lasted a bit too long for Kat's liking was all she got in response. "Do you need some more water?" Kat continued. Her grandmother held up her pointer finger, a system they'd devised to avoid her having to talk. One finger meant 'yes', and two meant 'no'. Anything more complicated than that required a pen and pad of paper.

Kat nodded sharply and got up out of her chair, grabbing the travel mug with an extendable straw that sat on the nightstand. Quickly, she hurried downstairs and filled it from the refrigerator before jogging back upstairs. As she stepped onto the landing, she could hear the TV in her grandmother's room louder than it had been before. A short burst of trumpets and heavy drums told her that Nana was watching the news.

As she stepped back into the room and returned the cup to its spot, she leaned over Nana's small frame, checking her catheter and IV port. The home healthcare nurse was supposed to be by later with a new bag of fluids for the IV drip. And Kat had asked her to bring another inhaler or two, since they'd already worked through the ones they had. Whatever this sickness was, it was surely taking a toll on the Winters clan.

Kat was fluffing the pillow underneath Nana's head when she felt a slight tug on her shirt. She glanced down and saw Nana motioning weakly for her to move. Kat wasn't altogether sure why, but she moved regardless and saw her grandmother's focus trained solely on the small television set.

"This just in," a woman's voice said in a dark tone, "we're getting initial reports out of Washington, D.C. that there's been some kind of attack in the downtown area." Kat whirled around quicker than she thought possible, her hands suddenly shaking. The news anchor had a hand up to her ear, presumably listening to the producers feeding her details from off-camera.

"Alright, we're going to take you there live now, where Adam Langston is reporting in the field. Adam? Can you hear us?"

The screen suddenly split and a young man wearing a collared shirt appeared on the right half of the screen, a microphone held up to his mouth and a serious look on his face. It was dusk and getting darker, so his face was illuminated by the camera light.

"Thanks, Carla," he said sternly, "I'm here in the 2100 block of Virginia Avenue, where behind me you can see the remains of a single-vehicle accident." The young man turned his shoulder and the camera zoomed in on the street, past the yellow caution tape.

A black SUV was lying on its top in the middle of the street, still smoking from the fire that had just been put out. The bottom of the vehicle was charred black, and the metal had been mangled by some kind of explosion. Slowly, Katherine sat down on the edge of her grandmother's bed. All up and down the side of the SUV were bullet holes of varying sizes and cluster patterns. Whoever had been driving this vehicle, they'd obviously been trying to get away from someone that wanted to do them harm.

"Just a few moments ago," the reporter continued, his face reappearing on the screen, "we received confirmation from the Department of Homeland Security—which works in tandem with the extra-governmental counterterrorism group known as SHIELD—that the organization's director, Nicholas Fury, was the driver of the vehicle involved." Kat couldn't help the gasp that escaped her chest. The official picture of him popped up on the screen, one good eye staring out at her in an almost menacing fashion. "No word about the director's condition as, oddly enough, he could not be located when emergency responders first arrived on scene. Police are checking all area hospitals, but if you have any information about his whereabouts, you are encouraged to contact your local police. Back to you in the studio, Carla."

"Thanks, Adam," the woman said as the man's face disappeared from the screen. "We want to show you a video of the incident that was captured on a cellphone camera. The video does contain distressing content, so viewer discretion is advised."

A pixelated image of a city street appeared on screen, obviously having been shot from an upper story window looking down. The ' _pop pop pop!'_ of gunfire could be heard in the distance. The man holding the cellphone let out an expletive that had been censored by the station and the image shook up and down. In the bottom left-hand corner of the screen, Kat saw a man dressed in dark clothes walk into the middle of the street. He was holding something she could only assume was a long gun, but the image was too blurry to pinpoint what kind. The man seemed to throw something on the ground, and then a familiar-looking SUV appeared, suddenly flying through the air as whatever the man had thrown exploded in a ball of red flames.

The amateur videographer cursed again and dropped his phone, at which point the video ended and the screen cut back to the anchor. "As you can see from the video," she said somberly, "this was clearly some kind of organized, targeted attack against Director Fury's life. Authorities are investigating any potential ties to terrorism, and are encouraging everyone to remain in their homes this evening. We will bring you more as this story develops."

A leather-soft hand wrapped around Kat's upper arm, drawing her attention away from the television. She looked at her grandmother, and had to fight back the tears welling in her eyes. If someone was going after Director Fury, it could only mean that Steve's life was in danger too.

"Y-you…" Nana started to choke out, clearing her throat roughly, "have to…h-have to…"

Kat dropped to her knees by the side of the bed, gripping her grandmother's hand. It was enough that she'd mustered enough strength to conjure a few words, but the look in her eyes spoke more than she could at the present moment. "I can't leave you, Nana, not right now," Kat said quietly.

"St-Steve…needs _you_."

The fluttering of her heart in her chest was enough to make her want to run. But the voice inside her head, the one she hoped was her better judgment, was screaming at her to stay put. "I wouldn't even know where to start, Nana," she replied softly. "Whatever is going on here—" She looked back at the TV, where they were showing an extremely blurry still shot of the assailant from the video. "…It's bigger than Steve, and it's a hell of a lot bigger than me," she finished quietly, turning back to look her grandmother in the eye.

A knowing look upon her face, Edith slowly drew her hand out of Kat's grip, and placed a gnarled finger on her granddaughter's chest. " _This…_ " she said, struggling for air, "is bigger… than… _anything._ "

When the tears came, they didn't offer any relief. Kat struggled as she felt them rolling down her cheeks, but it was the smile on Nana's face that broke her heart most of all. Even now, when she was in so much pain, she was trying to comfort her.

"That's just your meds talkin', Nana," she sighed quietly, laughing a bit to cut the tension. "It killed me to leave you a week ago, I can't up and do it again so soon."

Edith waved her hand dismissively, brow scrunching in annoyance. She motioned for Kat to hand her the legal pad sitting on her nightstand, and the pen resting on top of it. She reached over and passed the pen and paper to her grandmother, who took it with shaky fingers. It took her a few minutes, but she eventually scratched out a short sentence. When her eyes landed on the words, Kat's eyes brimmed with tears.

_I am your past, Kitty. Steve is your future._

She looked back up at her grandmother, a sad smile on her face. "I want..." the old woman croaked out, "you... to go." A part of Kat was screaming for her to just stay put; Nana needed her right now, more than ever. How could she think of leaving? But the other part... the other part saw the look on her grandmother's face, and saw the truth there. She really did want Kat to go, for one reason or another; it's what would make her happy.

Kat stood slowly and bent over the bed, placing a gentle kiss on Nana's forehead. "I love you," she said quietly, stroking back her soft hair. All her strength seemed to be gone, because she just nodded her head in response. She gave one last glance to the television, where they were showing an outward view of the Triskelion complex, and hurried across the hall to her room.


End file.
